gone off one spring to a country neighborhood in another State, where
she had some old relatives on her mother's side. Mr. Leigh had been
called to Europe on business, and she had remained there until well into
the summer. When she returned she was not the same. Some change had
taken place in her. She had gone away a rollicking, gay,
pleasure-loving, and rather selfish young girl--he was obliged to admit
that she was both wilful and self-indulgent. Even his affection for her
could not blind his eyes to this, and at times it had given him much
concern, for at times there was a clash in which, if he came off victor,
he felt it was at a perilous price--that, possibly, of a strain on her
obedience. She returned a full-grown woman, thoughtful and
self-sacrificing and with an aim--he was glad it was not a mission--and
as her aim was to be useful, and she began with him, he accepted it with
contentment. She talked freely of her visit; spoke warmly, and indeed,
enthusiastically, of those she had met there. Among these were a young
country preacher and a friend of his, a young Jew. But, though she spoke
of both with respect, the praise she accorded them was so equal that he
dismissed from his mind the possibility that she could have been
seriously taken with either of them. Possibly, the Jew was the one she
was most enthusiastic over, but she spoke of him too openly to cause her
father disquietude. Besides, he was a Jew.
The preacher she plainly respected most highly, yet her account of his
appearance was too humorous to admit a serious feeling for him, even
though she had gotten him called to be one of Dr. Capon's assistants.
What had happened was that the girl, who had only "lain in the lilies
and fed on the roses of life," had suddenly been dropped in an
out-of-the-way corner in a country neighborhood in an old State, where
there were neither lilies nor roses of the metaphorical kind, though a
sufficiency of the real and natural kind, with which nature in
compensatory mood atones to those who have of the metaphorical sort but
thistles and brambles and flinty soil.
When she first landed there, after the very first excitement of being
thrown into a wholly new situation, among strangers whom, though her
relatives, she had always regarded much as she had regarded geographical
places in distant lands, was over, she found herself, as it were, at a
loss for occupation. Everything was so quiet and calm. She felt lost and
somewhat bored. But after a little time she found occupation in small
things, as on looking closely she discovered beauties in Nature which
her first glance had failed to catch. The people appeared so novel, so
simple, so wholly different from all whom she had known; the excitements
and amusements and interests of her life in the city, or at summer
watering-places, or in travelling, were not only unknown to them--as
unknown as if they were in another planet, but were matters of absolute
indifference. Their interest was in their neighbors, in the small
happenings about them; and occurrences an hundred miles away were as
distant to them as though they had taken place in another era. Among the
few notabilities in this rural community was a young clergyman whom she
always heard spoken of with respect--as much respect, indeed, as if he
had been a bishop. What "Mr. Marvel thought" and what he said was
referred to, or was quoted as something to be considered--so much so
that she had insensibly formed a picture in her own mind of a quite
remarkable looking and impressive person. When, at last, she met John
Marvel, what was her amusement to discover, in place of her young
Antinous, a stout, strapping young fellow, with rather bristly hair,
very near-sighted and awkward, and exceedingly shy, a person as far from
a man of the world as a stout, country-bred cart-horse would be from a
sleek trick-pony. His timidity in her presence caused her endless
amusement, and for lack of some better diversion and partly to
scandalize her staid kinswomen, she set herself to tease him in every
way that her fertile brain could devise.
Visiting the young clergyman at the time was a friend who came much
nearer being in appearance what Eleanor had imagined John Marvel to be:
a dark, slender young man with a classical face, but that its lines were
stronger and more deeply graven, and unforgettable eyes. He had just
come to visit Mr. Marvel and to get a needed rest, John Marvel said. He
had been a worker among the poor, and his views were so different from
any that Eleanor Leigh had ever heard as to appear almost shocking. He
was an educated man, yet he had lived and worked as an artisan. He was a
gentleman, yet he denounced vehemently the conditions which produced the
upper class. But an even greater surprise awaited her when he announced
that he was a Jew.
When John Marvel brought his friend to see Miss Eleanor Leigh, the first
impression that she received was one of pleasure. He was so striking and
unusual looking--with deep, burning eyes under dark brows. Then she was
not sure that she liked him, she even thought she was sensible of a sort
of repulsion. She had a feeling as if he were weighing her in his mind
and, not approving of her, treated her at times with indifference, at
times with a certain disdain. She was conscious of an antagonism as
Wolffert showed scorn of conditions and things which she had been
brought up to believe almost as much a necessary part of life as air and
light. She promptly began to argue with him, but when she found that he
usually had the best of the argument, she became more careful how she
opened herself to his attack. He aroused in her the feeling of
opposition. His scorn of the money-making spirit of the day led her to
defend what she secretly held in contempt. And once when he had been
inveighing against commercialism that set up Gods of Brass to worship,
and declared that it was the old story of Nebuchadnezzar over again--and
was the fore-runner to brotherhood with the beasts of the field, she
wheeled on him, declaring that it was "only people who had no power to
make money who held such views."
"Do you think that I could not make money if I wished to do so?" said
Wolffert quietly, with an amused light in his eyes as they rested on her
with an expression which was certainly not hostile; for her eagerness
had brought warm blood to her cheeks and her eyes were sparkling with
the glow of contention.
"Yes, if you were able you would be as rich as a Jew."
A yet more amused look came into Wolffert's eyes.
"Are all Jews rich?" he asked.
"Yes--all who are capable--you know they are."
"No, for I am a Jew and I am not rich," said Wolffert.
"What! You!--You a--Oh, I beg your pardon! I--" she blushed deeply.
"Pray don't apologize--don't imagine that I am offended. Would you be
offended if I charged you with coming from a race of poets and
philosophers and scientists--of a race that had given the world its
literature and its religion?"
She burst out laughing.
"No; but I was such a fool--pray forgive me." She held out her hand and
Wolffert took it and pressed it firmly--and this was the beginning of
their friendship.
Wolffert walked home slowly that evening, that is, across the fields to
the little farmhouse where John Marvel lived. He had food for thought.
When Eleanor Leigh saw John Marvel a few days later she told him of her
conversation and the speech she had made to his friend. "You know," said
John, "that he is rich or could be, if he chose to go home. His father
is very rich."
"He is a new Jew to me," said Eleanor Leigh; "he is quite different from
the typical Jew."
"I wonder if there is a typical Jew," questioned John to himself, and
this set Eleanor wondering too.
But Eleanor Leigh found other causes for wonder in Wolffert besides the
salient fact of his race which she had mentioned to her cousins, and
they forced upon her the consciousness that she would have to readjust
her ideas of many things as she had been compelled to do in regard to
the appearance and aims of this singular people. Her idea of the
Israelites had always been curiously connoted with hooked noses, foreign
speech of a far from refined type, and a persistent pursuit of shekels
by ways generally devious and largely devoted to shops containing
articles more or less discarded by other people. Here she found a
cultivated gentleman with features, if not wholly classical, at least
more regular and refined than those of most young men of her
acquaintance; speech so cultivated as to be quite distinguished, and an
air and manner so easy and gracious as to suggest to her complete
knowledge of the great world. No matter what subject was discussed
between them, he knew about it more than any one else, and always threw
light on it which gave it a new interest for her. He had a knowledge of
the Literature and Art, not only of the ancients, but of most modern
nations, and he talked to her of things of which she had never so much
as heard. He had not only travelled extensively in Europe, but had
travelled in a way to give him an intimate knowledge not merely of the
countries, but of the people and customs of the countries which no one
she had ever met possessed. He had crossed in the steerage of
ocean-liners more than once and had stoked across both to England and
the Mediterranean.
"But what made you do it?" she asked. "Did not you find it terrible?"
"Yes--pretty bad." Wolffert was at the moment showing her how tea was
made in certain provinces along the Caspian Sea which he had visited not
long before. "About as bad as it could be."
"Then what made you do it?"
"Well, I saved money by it, too."
What the other reason was she did not press him to give. She only
thought, "That is the Jew of it." But after she had seen more of him she
discovered that the other reason was that he might learn by personal
experience what the condition was in the emigrant ships and the holes
where the stokers lived deep down amid the coal-bunkers and the roaring
furnaces, and further, that he might know the people themselves.
Incidentally, he had learned there and elsewhere Italian and Russian,
with the strange Hebraic faculty of absorbing whatever he came in touch
with, but he thought no more of knowing that than of knowing Yiddish.
It was this study of conditions that finally gave her the key to his
design in life, for it developed as their acquaintance grew that this
clear-headed, cultivated, thoughtful man held strange views as to the
ordinary things of life, the things which she had always accepted as
fundamental and unchangeable as the solid earth or the vaguely
comprehended but wholly accepted revolution of the spheres. In fact, he
held that the conditions of modern life, the relations of people in
mass, which she had somehow always considered as almost perfect and,
indeed, divinely established, were absolutely outworn and fundamentally
unrighteous and unjust. She at first did not take him seriously. She
could not. To find a pleasant and, indeed, rather eloquent-spoken young
man denounce as wicked and vile usurpation the establishment of
competitive enterprises, and the accumulation of capital by captains of
industry, appeared to her almost impious. Yet, there he sat with burning
eyes and thrilling voice denouncing the very things she had always
considered most commendable. "Why, that is Socialism, isn't it?" she
asked, feeling that if she could convict him of this somewhat vaguely
comprehended term she would prove her old foundations unshaken.
Wolffert smiled. He was very good-looking when he smiled. "No, not
exactly--if it is, it is only an elementary and individual kind of
Socialism; but it is Socialism so far as it is based on a profound
desire to reconstruct society and to place it on a natural and equitable
social foundation where every one shall have a chance to work and to
reap the fruit of such work."
"What is Socialism?" she demanded suddenly.
"It is not what you mean by the term," he laughed. "It is not taking the
property of those who have worked for it and giving to those who neither
have worked nor will work--that is what you have in mind."
"Precisely," she nodded.
"It is--at least, the Socialism I mean--the application of the same
method of general order by the people at large to labor and the product
of labor: property--that is now employed in Government. The
reconstruction of the present methods so that all should participate
both in the labor, and in the product." He went on to picture glowingly
the consequences of this Utopian scheme when all men should work and all
should reap. But though he made it appear easy enough to him, Eleanor
Leigh's practical little head saw the difficulties and the flaws much
more readily than the perfect result which he appeared to find so
certain.
"You cannot reconstruct human nature," she protested, "and when you
shall have gotten your system thoroughly under way, those who have
gotten in positions of power will use their advantage for their own
benefit, and then you will still have to begin all over again." But
Wolffert was certain of the result and pointed out the work of his
friend John Marvel as a proof of his theory.
While, at first, the broad-shouldered young clergyman fled from her
presence with a precipitation which was laughable, it was not long
before he appeared to have steeled himself sufficiently against her
shafts of good-natured persiflage to be able to tolerate her presence,
and before a great while had passed, her friends began to tease her on
the fact that wherever she went Mr. Marvel was pretty sure to appear.
One of her old cousins, half-rallyingly and half-warningly, cautioned
her against going too far with the young man, saying, "Mr. Marvel, my
dear, is too good a man for you to amuse yourself with, and then fling
away. What is simply the diversion of an hour for you, may become a
matter of real gravity with him. He is already deeply interested in you
and unless you are interested in him----"
"Why, I am interested in him," declared the girl, laughing. "Why, he
tells me of all the old sick women and cats in the parish and I have an
engagement to go around with him and see some old women to-morrow. You
ought to see some that we went to visit the other day!"
"I know, my dear, but you must not make fun of his work. He is happy in
it and is accomplishing a great deal of good, and if you should get him
dissatisfied----"
"Oh, no, indeed; I gave him some money last week for a poor family to
get some clothes so that they could come to church. They were named
Banyan. They live near the mines. The whole family were to be christened
next Sunday, and what do you suppose they did? As soon as they got the
clothes they went last Sunday to a big baptizing and were all immersed!
I was teasing him about that when you heard me laughing at him."
"The wretches!" exclaimed her cousin. "To think of their deceiving him
so!"
"I know," said the girl. "But I think he minded the deception much more
than the other. Though I charged him with being disappointed at not
getting them into his fold, really, I don't think he minded it a bit. At
least, he said he would much rather they had gone where they would be
happy."
"Now, Mr. Marvel's friend, Mr. Wolffert, is a different matter. He
appears quite able to take care of himself."
"Quite," said Miss Leigh dryly.
"But, my dear," said her cousin, lowering her voice, "they say he is a
Jew."
"He is," said Eleanor.
"You know it?"
"Yes, he told me so himself."
"Told you himself! Why, I thought--! How did he come to tell you?"
"Why, I don't know. We were talking and I said something foolish about
the Jews--about some one being 'as rich and stingy as a Jew,' and he
smiled and said, 'Are all Jews rich--and stingy?' And I said, 'If they
have a chance,' and he said, 'Not always. I am a Jew and I am not rich.'
Well, I thought he was fooling, just teasing me--so I went on, and do
you know he is not only a Jew, but Mr. Marvel says he is rich, only he
does not claim his money because he is a Socialist. Mr. Marvel says he
could go home to-morrow and his father would take him and lavish money
on him; but he works--works all the time among the poor."
"Well, I must say I always liked him," said her cousin.
"But he isn't such good fun to tease as Mr. Marvel--he is too intense.
Mr. Marvel does get so red and unhappy-looking when he is teased."
"Well, you have no right to tease him. He is a clergyman and should be
treated with respect. You wouldn't dare to tease your rector in
town--the great Dr.--What is his name?"
"Oh! wouldn't I? Dr. Bartholomew Capon. Why, he is one of the greatest
beaux in town. He's always running around to see some girl--ogling them
with his big blue eyes."
"Eleanor!" exclaimed her cousin reprovingly.
"Why, he'd marry any one of the Canter girls who would have him, or Aunt
Sophia, or----"
"Eleanor, don't be profane."
The old lady looked so shocked that the girl ran over and kissed her,
with a laugh.
"Why, I've told him so."
"Told him? You haven't!"
"Yes, I have. I told him so when he tried to marry me. Then he tried
Aunt Sophia."
"What! Eleanor, you are incorrigible. You really are. But do tell me
about it. Did he really court you? Why, he's old enough to be your----"
"Grandfather," interrupted the girl. "That's what I told him,
substantially."
"Served him right, too. But he must be a fine preacher from what my old
friend, Pansy Tipps, once wrote me. Did you ever meet Pansy Tipps? She
and her sister live in your city. They went there years ago to press a
claim they had to a large fortune left them by their father, Colonel
Tipps, who used to be a very rich man, but left his affairs somewhat
complicated, I gather from what Pansy writes me, or did write, for she
does not write very often now. I wish you'd go and see them when you go
back."
"I will," said Eleanor. "Where do they live?"
"At a Mrs. Kale's--she keeps a boarding-house--I don't know the exact
location, and mislaid Pansy's letter a year or more ago, but you will
have no difficulty in finding it. It must be in the fashionable quarter
and I should think any one could tell you where she lives."
"I will find her," said Eleanor, laughing.
XII
JOHN MARVEL
When, a little later, a scourge of diphtheria broke out in a little
mining camp not far from the home of Miss Leigh's relatives and she
learned that John Marvel spent all his time nursing the sick and
relieving their necessities as far as possible, she awakened to a
realization of the truth of what her cousin had said, that under his
awkward exterior lay a mine of true gold.
Day by day reports came of the spread of the deadly pestilence, making
inroads in every family, baffling the skill and outstripping the utmost
efforts of the local physician; day by day, the rumor came that wherever
illness appeared there was John Marvel.
One afternoon Miss Leigh, who had ridden over in the direction of the
mining village to try and get some information about the young
clergyman, who, a rumor said, had been stricken himself the day before,
came on him suddenly in a by-path among the hills. At sight of her he
stopped and held up his hand in warning, and at the warning she reined
in her horse.
"Don't come nearer," he called to her.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "How are you?" For even at that
distance--perhaps, some fifty paces--she could see that he looked
wretchedly worn and wan.
"Oh, I'm doing very well," he replied. "How are you? You must not come
this way! Turn back!"
She began to rein her horse around and then, on a sudden, as his arm
fell to his side, and, stepping a little out of the path, he leant
against a tree, the whole situation struck her. Wheeling her horse back,
she rode straight up to him though he stiffened up and waved her back.
"You are ill," she said.
"Oh, no. I am not ill, I am only a bit tired; that is all. You must not
come this way--go back!"
"But why?" she persisted, sitting now close above him.
"Because--because--there is sickness here. A family there is down." He
nodded back toward the curve around which he had just come. "The Banyan
family are all ill, and I am just going for help."
"I will go--I, at least, can do that. What help? What do you want?"
She had tightened the rein on her horse and turned his head back.
"Everything. The mother and three children are all down; the father died
a few days ago. Send the doctor and anything that you can
find--food--clothing--medicine--some one to nurse them--if you can find
her. It is the only chance."
"I will." She hesitated a moment and looked down at him, as if about to
speak, but he waved her off. "Go, you must not stay longer."
He had moved around so that the wind, instead of blowing from him toward
her, blew from the other side of her.
A moment later Eleanor Leigh was galloping for life down the steep
bridle-path. It was a breakneck gait, and the path was rough enough to
be perilous, but she did not heed it. It was the first time in all her
life that she had been conscious that she could be of real use. She felt
that she was galloping in a new world. From house to house she rode, but
though all were sympathetic, there was no one to go. Those who might
have gone, were elsewhere--or were dead. The doctor was away from home
attending at other bedsides and, by the account given, had been working
night and day until he could scarcely stand. Riding to the nearest
telegraph station, the girl sent a despatch to a doctor whom she knew in
the city where she lived, begging him to come or to send some one on the
first train and saying that he would be met and that she would meet all
his expenses. Then she sat down and wrote a note to her cousin. And two
hours later, just as the dusk was falling, she rode up to the door of a
country cabin back among the hills. As she softly pushed open the door,
with her arm full of bundles, a form rose from the side of a bed and
stood before her in the dusk of the room.
"My God! you must not come in here. Why have you come here?"
"To help you," said the girl.
"But you must not come in. Go out. You must," said John Marvel.
[Illustration: "But you must not come in."]
"No, I have come to stay. I could not live if I did not stay now." She
pushed her way in. "Here are some things I have brought. I have
telegraphed for a doctor."
It was long before she could satisfy John Marvel, but she staid, and all
that night she worked with him over the sick and the dying. All that
night they two strove to hold Death at bay, across those wretched beds.
Once, indeed, he had struck past their guard and snatched a life; but
they had driven him back and saved the others. Ere morning came one of
the children had passed away; but the mother and the other children
survived; and Eleanor Leigh knew that John Marvel, now on his knees, now
leaning over the bed administering stimulants, had saved them.
As Eleanor Leigh stepped out into the morning light, she looked on a new
earth, as fair as if it had just been created, and it was a new Eleanor
Leigh who gazed upon it. The tinsel of frivolity had shrivelled and
perished in the fire of that night. Sham had laid bare its shallow face
and fled away. Life had taken on reality. She had seen a man, and
thenceforth only a man could command her.
The physician came duly, sent up by the one she had telegraphed to; rode
over to the Banyan house, and later to the village, where he pronounced
the disease diphtheria and the cause probably defective drainage and
consequent impregnation of the water supply; wrote a prescription;
commended the country doctor, returned home, and duly charged nearly
half as much as the country doctor got in a year, which Miss Leigh duly
paid with thoughts of John Marvel. This was what made the change in the
girl which her father had noted.
No novelist can give all of a hero's or a heroine's life. He must take
some especial phase and develop his characters along that line,
otherwise he would soon overload his boat and swamp his reader's
patience. He is happy who having selected his path of action does not
wear out the reader in asking him to follow even this one line. Thus, it
is possible to give only a part of Miss Eleanor Leigh's relation to
life, and naturally the part selected is that which had also its
relation to John Marvel.