THE ULTIMATE CHOICE
We carried her home next day in George's motor car, ploughing with
difficulty over the heavy roads, which in a month's time would have
become impassable. A golden morning had followed the rain; the sun shone
clear, the wind sang in the bronzed tree-tops, and on the low hills to
the right of us, the harvested corn ricks stood out illuminated against
a deep blue sky. When the brown-winged birds flew, as they sometimes
did, across the road, her eyes measured their flight with a look in
which there was none of the radiant impulse I had seen on that afternoon
when she gazed after the flying swallows. She spoke but seldom, and then
it was merely to thank me when I wrapped the fur rug about her, or to
reply to a question of George's with a smile that had in it a touching
helplessness, a pathetic courage. And this helplessness, this courage,
brought to my memory the sound of her voice when she had called George's
name aloud in her terror. Even after we had reached home, and when she
and I stood alone, for a minute, before the fire in her room, I felt
still that something within her--something immaterial and flamelike that
was her soul--turned from me, seeking always a clearer and a diviner
air.
"Are you in pain now, Sally? What can I do for you?" I asked.
"No, I am better. Don't worry," she answered.
Then, because there seemed nothing further to say, I stood in silence,
while she moved from me, as if the burden of her weight was too much for
her, and sank down on the couch, hiding her face in the pillows.
Two days later there came down a great specialist from New York for a
consultation; and while he was upstairs in her closed bedroom, I walked
up and down the floor of the library, over the Turkish rugs, between the
black oak bookcases, as I had walked in that other house on the night of
my failure. How small a thing that seemed to me now compared with this!
What I remembered best from that night was the look in her face when she
had turned and run back to me with her arms outstretched, and the warm,
flattened braid of her hair that had brushed my cheek. I understood at
last, as I walked restlessly back and forth, waiting for the verdict
from the closed room, that I had been happy then--if I had only known
it! The warmth stifled me, and going to the window, I flung it open, and
leaned out into the mild November weather. In the street below leaves
were burning, and while the odour floated up to me I saw again her red
shoes dancing over the sunken graves in the churchyard.
The door opened above, there was the sound of a slow heavy tread on the
staircase, and I went forward to meet the great specialist as he came
into the room.
For a minute he looked at me enquiringly over a pair of black-rimmed
glasses, while I stood there neither thinking nor feeling, but waiting.
Something in my brain, which until then had seemed to tick the slow
movement of time, came suddenly to a stop like a clock that has run
down.
"In my opinion an operation is unnecessary, Mr. Starr," he said, drawing
out his watch as he spoke, "and in your wife's present condition I
seriously advise against it. The injury to the spine may not be
permanent, but there is only one cure for it--time--time and rest. To
make recovery possible she should have absolute quiet, absolute freedom
from care. She must be taken to a milder climate,--I would suggest
southern California,--and she must be kept free from mental disturbance
for a number of years."
"In that case there is hope of recovery?"
For an instant he stared at me blankly, his gaze wandering from his
watch to the clock on the mantel, as if there were a discrepancy in the
time, which he would like to correct.
"Ah, yes, hope," he replied suddenly, in a cheerful voice, "there is
always hope." Then having uttered his confession of faith, he appeared
to grow nervous. "Have you a time-table on your desk?" he enquired. "I'd
like to look up an earlier train than the Florida special."
Having looked up his train, he turned to shake hands with me, while the
abstracted and preoccupied expression in his face grew a trifle more
human, as if he had found what he wanted.
"What your wife needs, my dear sir," he remarked, as he went out, "is
not medical treatment, but daily and hourly care."
A minute later, when the front door had closed after him, and the motor
car had borne him on his way to the station, I stood alone in the room,
repeating his words with a kind of joy, as if they contained the secret
of happiness for which I had sought. "Daily and hourly care, daily and
hourly care." I tried to think clearly of what it meant--of the love,
the sacrifice, the service that would go into it. I tried, too, to think
of her as she was lying now, still and pale in the room upstairs, with
the expression of touching helplessness, of pathetic courage, about her
mouth; but even as I made the effort, the scent of burning leaves
floated again through the window and I could see her only in her red
shoes dancing over the sunken graves. "Daily and hourly care," I
repeated aloud.
The words were still on my lips when old Esdras, stepping softly, came
in and put a telegram into my hands, and as I tore it open, I said over
slowly, like one who impresses a fact on the memory, "What your wife
needs is daily and hourly care." Ah, she should have it. How she should
have it! Then my eyes fell on the paper, and before I read the words, I
knew that it was the offer of the presidency of the Great South Midland
and Atlantic Railroad. The end of my ambition, the great adventure of my
boyhood, lay in my grasp.
With the telegram still in my hand, I went up the staircase, and entered
the bedroom where Sally was lying, with wide, bright eyes, in the
dimness.
"It's good news," I said, as I bent over her, "there's only good news
to-day."
She looked up at me with that searching brightness I had seen when she
gazed straight beyond me for the help that I could not give.
"It means going away from everything I have ever known," she said
slowly; "it means leaving you, Ben."
"It means never leaving me again in your life," I replied; "not for a
day--not for an hour."
"You will go, too?" she asked, and the faint wonder in her face pierced
to my heart.
"Do you think I'd be left?" I demanded.
Her eyes filled and as she turned from me, a tear fell on my hand.
"But your work, your career--oh, no, no, Ben, no."
"You are my career, darling, I have never in my heart had any career but
you. What I am, I am yours, Sally, but there are things that I cannot
give you because they are not mine, because they are not in me. These
are the things that were George's."
Lifting my hand she kissed it gently and let it fall with a gesture that
expressed an acquiescence in life rather than a surrender to love.
"I've sometimes thought that if I hadn't loved you first, Ben--if I
could ever have changed, I should have loved George," she said, and
added very softly, like one who seeks to draw strength from a radiant
memory, "but I had already loved you once for all, I suppose, in the
beginning."
"I am yours, such as I am," I returned. "Plain I shall always be--plain
and rough sometimes, and forgetful to the end of the little things--but
the big things are there as you know, Sally, as you know."
"As I know," she repeated, a little sadly, yet with the pathetic courage
in her voice; "and it is the big things, after all, that I've wanted
most all my life."
Then she shook her head with a smile that brought me to my knees at her
side.
"You've forgotten the railroad," she said. "You've forgotten the
presidency of the South Midland--that's what _you_ wanted most."
My laugh answered her. "Hang the presidency of the South Midland!" I
responded gaily.
Her brows went up, and she looked at me with the shadow of her old
charming archness. By this look I knew that the spirit of the Blands
would fight on, though always with that faint wonder. Then her eyes fell
on the crumpled telegram I still held in my hand, and she reached to
take it.
"What is that, dear?" she asked.
Breaking away from her, I walked to the fireplace and tossed the offer
of the presidency of the South Midland and Atlantic Railroad into the
grate. It caught slowly, and I stood there while it flamed up, and then
crumbled with curled fiery ends among the ashes. When it was quite gone,
I turned and came back to her.
"Only a bit of waste paper," I answered.
Mr. JAMES LANE ALLEN'S NOVELS
The Choir Invisible
"One reads the story for the story's sake, and then re-reads the
book out of pure delight in its beauty. The story is American to
the very core.... Mr. Allen stands to-day in the front rank of
American novelists. _The Choir Invisible_ will solidify a
reputation already established and bring into clear light his rare
gifts as an artist. For this latest story is as genuine a work of
art as has come from an American hand."--Hamilton Mabie in _The
Outlook_.
The Reign of Law. A Tale of the Kentucky Hempfields
"Mr. Allen has a style as original and almost as perfectly finished
as Hawthorne's, and he has also Hawthorne's fondness for spiritual
suggestion that makes all his stories rich in the qualities that
are lacking in so many novels of the period.... If read in the
right way, it cannot fail to add to one's spiritual
possessions."--_San Francisco Chronicle._
The Mettle of the Pasture
"It may be that _The Mettle of the Pasture_ will live and become a
part of our literature; it certainly will live far beyond the
allotted term of present-day fiction. Our principal concern is that
it is a notable novel, that it ranks high in the range of American
and English fiction, and that it is worth the reading, the
re-reading, and the continuous appreciation of those who care for
modern literature at its best."--By E. F. E. in the _Boston
Transcript_.
Summer in Arcady. A Tale of Nature
"This story by James Lane Allen is one of the gems of the season.
It is artistic in its setting, realistic and true to nature and
life in its descriptions, dramatic, pathetic, tragic, in its
incidents; indeed, a veritable masterpiece that must become
classic. It is difficult to give an outline of the story; it is one
of the stories which do not outline; it must be read."--_Boston
Daily Advertiser._
_Shorter Stories_
The Blue Grass Region of Kentucky
Flute and Violin, and Other Kentucky Tales
The Bride of the Mistletoe
A Kentucky Cardinal.
Aftermath. A Sequel to "A Kentucky Cardinal"
Mr. F. MARION CRAWFORD'S NOVELS
Mr. Crawford has no equal as a writer of brilliant cosmopolitan fiction,
in which the characters really belong to the chosen scene and the story
interest is strong. His novels possess atmosphere in a high degree.
Mr. Isaacs (India)
Its scenes are laid in Simla, chiefly. This is the work which first
placed its author among the most brilliant novelists of his day.
Greifenstein (The Black Forest)
"... Another notable contribution to the literature of the day. It
possesses originality in its conception and is a work of unusual
ability. Its interest is sustained to the close, and it is an advance
even on the previous work of this talented author. Like all Mr.
Crawford's work, this novel is crisp, clear, and vigorous, and will be
read with a great deal of interest."--_New York Evening Telegram._
Zoroaster (Persia)
"It is a drama in the force of its situations and in the poetry and
dignity of its language; but its men and women are not men and women of
a play. By the naturalness of their conversation and behavior they seem
to live and lay hold of our human sympathy more than the same characters
on a stage could possibly do."--_The New York Times._
The Witch of Prague (Bohemia)
"_A fantastic tale," illustrated by W. J. Hennessy._
"The artistic skill with which this extraordinary story is constructed
and carried out is admirable and delightful.... Mr. Crawford has scored
a decided triumph, for the interest of the tale is sustained
throughout.... A very remarkable, powerful, and interesting
story."--_New York Tribune._
Paul Patoff (Constantinople)
"Mr. Crawford has a marked talent for assimilating local color, not to
make mention of a broader historical sense. Even though he may adopt, as
it is the romancer's right to do, the extreme romantic view of history,
it is always a living and moving picture that he evolves for us, varied
and stirring."--_New York Evening Post._
Marietta (Venice)
"No living writer can surpass Mr. Crawford in the construction of a
complicated plot and the skilful unravelling of the tangled
skein."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
"He has gone back to the field of his earlier triumphs, and has,
perhaps, scored the greatest triumph of them all."--_New York Herald._
THE SARACINESCA SERIES
Saracinesca
"The work has two distinct merits, either of which would serve to make
it great,--that of telling a perfect story in a perfect way, and of
giving a graphic picture of Roman society in the last days of the Pope's
temporal power.... The story is exquisitely told."--_Boston Traveler._
Sant' Ilario. A Sequel to "Saracinesca"
"A singularly powerful and beautiful story.... It fulfils every
requirement of artistic fiction. It brings out what is most impressive
in human action, without owing any of its effectiveness to
sensationalism or artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution,
accordant with experience, graphic in description, penetrating in
analysis, and absorbing in interest."--_New York Tribune._
Don Orsino. A Sequel to "Sant' Ilario"
"Perhaps the cleverest novel of the year.... There is not a dull
paragraph in the book, and the reader may be assured that once begun,
the story of _Don Orsino_ will fascinate him until its close."--_The
Critic._
Taquisara
"To Mr. Crawford's Roman novels belongs the supreme quality of uniting
subtly drawn characters to a plot of uncommon interest."--_Chicago
Tribune._
Corleone
"Mr. Crawford is the novelist born ... a natural story-teller, with wit,
imagination, and insight added to a varied and profound knowledge of
social life."--_The Inter-Ocean_, Chicago.
Casa Braccio. _In two volumes, $2.00._ Illustrated by A. Castaigne.
"Mr. Crawford's books have life, pathos, and insight; he tells a
dramatic story with many exquisite touches."--_New York Sun._
The White Sister
NOVELS OF ROMAN SOCIAL LIFE
A Roman Singer
"One of the earliest and best works of this famous novelist.... None but
a genuine artist could have made so true a picture of human life,
crossed by human passions and interwoven with human weakness. It is a
perfect specimen of literary art."--_The Newark Advertiser._
Marzio's Crucifix
"We have repeatedly had occasion to say that Mr. Crawford possesses in
an extraordinary degree the art of constructing a story. It is as if it
could not have been written otherwise, so naturally does the story
unfold itself, and so logical and consistent is the sequence of incident
after incident. As a story, _Marzio's Crucifix_ is perfectly
constructed."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._
Heart of Rome. A Tale of the Lost Water
"Mr. Crawford has written a story of absorbing interest, a story with a
genuine thrill in it; he has drawn his characters with a sure and
brilliant touch, and he has said many things surpassingly well."--_New
York Times Saturday Review._
Cecilia. A Story of Modern Rome
"That F. Marion Crawford is a master of mystery needs no new telling....
His latest novel, _Cecilia_, is as weird as anything he has done since
the memorable _Mr. Isaacs_.... A strong, interesting, dramatic story,
with the picturesque Roman setting beautifully handled as only a
master's touch could do it."--_Philadelphia Evening Telegraph._
Whosoever Shall Offend
"It is a story sustained from beginning to end by an ever increasing
dramatic quality."--_New York Evening Post._
Pietro Ghisleri
"The imaginative richness, the marvellous ingenuity of plot, the power
and subtlety of the portrayal of character, the charm of the romantic
environment,--the entire atmosphere, indeed,--rank this novel at once
among the great creations."--_The Boston Budget._
To Leeward
"The four characters with whose fortunes this novel deals are, perhaps,
the most brilliantly executed portraits in the whole of Mr. Crawford's
long picture gallery, while for subtle insight into the springs of human
passion and for swift dramatic action none of the novels surpasses this
one."--_The News and Courier._
A Lady of Rome
Via Crucis. A Romance of the Second Crusade.
"_Via Crucis...._ A tale of former days, possessing an air of reality
and an absorbing interest such as few writers since Scott have been able
to accomplish when dealing with historical characters."--_Boston
Transcript._
In the Palace of the King (Spain)
"_In the Palace of the King_ is a masterpiece; there is a
picturesqueness, a sincerity which will catch all readers in an
agreeable storm of emotion, and even leave a hardened reviewer impressed
and delighted."--_Literature_, London.
With the Immortals
"The strange central idea of the story could have occurred only to a
writer whose mind was very sensitive to the current of modern thought
and progress, while its execution, the setting it forth in proper
literary clothing, could be successfully attempted only by one whose
active literary ability should be fully equalled by his power of
assimilative knowledge both literary and scientific, and no less by his
courage and capacity for hard work. The book will be found to have a
fascination entirely new for the habitual reader of novels. Indeed, Mr.
Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers quite above the ordinary
plane of novel interest."--_Boston Advertiser._
Children of the King (Calabria)
"One of the most artistic and exquisitely finished pieces of work that
Crawford has produced. The picturesque setting, Calabria and its
surroundings, the beautiful Sorrento and the Gulf of Salerno, with the
bewitching accessories that climate, sea, and sky afford, give Mr.
Crawford rich opportunities to show his rare descriptive powers. As a
whole the book is strong and beautiful through its simplicity, and ranks
among the choicest of the author's many fine productions."--_Public
Opinion._
A Cigarette Maker's Romance (Munich)
and Khaled, a Tale of Arabia
"Two gems of subtle analysis of human passion and motive."--_Times._
"The interest is unflagging throughout. Never has Mr. Crawford done more
brilliant realistic work than here. But his realism is only the case and
cover for those intense feelings which, placed under no matter what
humble conditions, produce the most dramatic and the most tragic
situations.... This is a secret of genius, to take the most coarse and
common material, the meanest surroundings, the most sordid material
prospects, and out of the vehement passions which sometimes dominate all
human beings to build up with these poor elements, scenes and passages
the dramatic and emotional power of which at once enforce attention and
awaken the profoundest interest."--_New York Tribune._
Arethusa (Constantinople)
Dr. Cooper, in _The Bookman_, once gave to Mr. Crawford the title which
best marks his place in modern fiction: "the prince of storytellers."
A Tale of a Lonely Parish
"It is a pleasure to have anything so perfect of its kind as this brief
and vivid story.... It is doubly a success, being full of human
sympathy, as well as thoroughly artistic in its nice balancing of the
unusual with the commonplace, the clever juxtaposition of innocence and
guilt, comedy and tragedy, simplicity and intrigue."--_Critic._
Dr. Claudius. A True Story
The scene changes from Heidelberg to New York, and much of the story
develops during the ocean voyage.
"There is a satisfying quality in Mr. Crawford's strong, vital, forceful
stories."--_Boston Herald._
An American Politician. The scenes are laid in Boston
"It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully and picturesquely
written, portraying sharply individual characters in well-defined
surroundings."--_New York Commercial Advertiser._
The Three Fates
"Mr. Crawford has manifestly brought his best qualities as a student of
human nature and his finest resources as a master of an original and
picturesque style to bear upon this story. Taken for all in all, it is
one of the most pleasing of all his productions in fiction, and it
affords a view of certain phases of American, or perhaps we should say
of New York, life that have not hitherto been treated with anything like
the same adequacy and felicity."--_Boston Beacon._
Marion Darche
"Full enough of incident to have furnished material for three or four
stories.... A most interesting and engrossing book. Every page unfolds
new possibilities, and the incidents multiply rapidly."--_Detroit Free
Press._
"We are disposed to rank _Marion Darche_ as the best of Mr. Crawford's
American stories."--_The Literary World._
Katharine Lauderdale
The Ralstons. A Sequel to "Katharine Lauderdale"
"Mr. Crawford at his best is a great novelist, and in _Katharine
Lauderdale_ we have him at his best."--_Boston Daily Advertiser._
"A most admirable novel, excellent in style, flashing with humor, and
full of the ripest and wisest reflections upon men and women."--_The
Westminster Gazette._
"It is the first time, we think, in American fiction that any such
breadth of view has shown itself in the study of our social
framework."--_Life._
End of Project Gutenberg's The Romance of a Plain Man, by Ellen Glasgow