You who look at the simple events which I have been relating (from the
outside and at a distance) may have other criticisms to make of Ernest.
You may think it impossible that a youth so well placed, as he was at
Harvard, should have turned his back upon its paths of pleasantness for
the narrower way that meant so much hard work. Yet Ernest had not
allowed himself to be led or governed by an illusion. In the whole world
the serious student, the man who has his own way to make, can find no
better opportunity than at Harvard. No one could realize this better
than Ernest himself, in that time of storm and stress when he had felt
that the chart of his life must be mapped out by his own hand. But his,
he saw, was a special case, and the surest way to free himself from all
entanglements and to place himself at the command of duty, was, he
thought, to start out on an entirely new course. It was his Puritan
inheritance, this devotion to duty when once duty had shown clearly her
kindly but resolute visage.
Yet my story has been ill told if it has seemed to be more the story of
Ernest than of Miss Theodora. For very few of us does life hold any
marked surprises, any startling events. A whole life is often merely the
summary of many very commonplace happenings. Its real events are more
likely to be those moral crises when the soul must put itself in harmony
with all those external happenings which it has no power to control. Nor
is it one of the least of life's lessons that it would be indeed a
fatal gift, if it were ours--this longed for power to turn the tide of
events.
Take, for example, the case of Miss Theodora; what a feeble figure she
had been in her efforts to turn the current of affairs that made up her
life. How helpless her will to accomplish her desires!
If John had not married Dorothy--if Ernest had been willing to take his
grandfather's profession--if he had never met Eugenie--if he and Kate
had never cared for each other,--with all these "ifs" turned into
verities, how different, Miss Theodora thought, had been her outlook on
life. But we, who regard these things from the point of view of the
impartial onlooker, know that the fulfilling of her desires would not
have made her happiness, nor for the happiness of her nephew.
If in trying to show you this I have seemed to dwell too long on the
ordinary happenings in a simple life, remember that these, after all,
were not the things which I count of chief importance.
To me the great events in Miss Theodora's life were those three
occasions when she had to summon her strength to great decisions. These
soul crises counted for more than any other happenings in her life.
First, there was that struggle when she had to choose between her lover
and her nephew; then, almost as severe, though different in kind, the
battle in which at last she had given in to Ernest in his choice of a
profession; and last, although it had had no outward result, her merging
of her own prejudice against Eugenie in a readiness to do what would
probably make Ernest happier.
Hardly less bitter than these three struggles was the one which Miss
Theodora waged to decide whether or not it was her duty to join Ernest
in the West. At last she yielded in this more quickly though with
greater pain than in the two cases when she had given in to Ernest about
Harvard and about Eugenie.
She left Boston with the less reluctance, perhaps, because of certain
changes--some persons called them "improvements"--that had begun to
appear in her well-loved West End. The tall apartment houses which had
begun to creep in even before she left the city, the electric cars now
dashing through Charles street, were innovations that cut her to the
heart.
The breaking up of her modest little home soon followed.
"You will spend half of every year with us," said Kate, now pleasantly
situated in a house whose western windows overlooked the river. She had
already begun to make life pleasant for Ben's sisters, one of whom was
always staying with her.
"That will depend upon Ernest," Miss Theodora had answered, smiling. As
a matter of fact, she did not return to Boston, even for a visit, until
after Ernest's marriage; and so with her removal to Colorado, her
story--as a West End story--may be said to end.
But if I should tell you more about Miss Theodora, I would describe the
delightful New England home which, with Diantha's help, she made for
Ernest in Denver. Nor would I be able to omit telling of the romance
which came into her own life.
At first she tried to avoid meeting William Easton, now a widower; but
efforts of this kind, of course, were useless. They met calmly enough;
and as they talked together, the years that had passed seemed as
nothing.
"So you have come West, after all, Theodora--and for Ernest's sake, too,
though it was for his sake you refused to come so long ago."
"Yes," she said, "for Ernest's sake it seems, though when I see how much
he owes to you, I realize that you are more than kind--almost cruelly
kind--"
Then William Easton, smiling somewhat sadly, said nothing in reply,
though indeed there was no need of words. We all know how a story of
this kind ends in books; and even in real life old lovers sometimes
renew the pledges of youth.
(The End.)