He turned, and his eyes met hers, openly and unashamed.
"Tell me the truth--do you want to be an artist?"
"Mother, I'd rather be an artist than anything else in the world."
"Then, dear, keep at it, and don't get discouraged. Somebody said once
that the only reason for a failure was that the desire to succeed was
not strong enough."
Lynn laughed mirthlessly. "If that is so," he said, moodily, "I shall
not fail."
"No," she answered, "you shall not fail. I won't let you fail," she
added, impulsively. "I know you and I believe in you."
"The worst of it," Lynn went on, "would be to disappoint you."
Margaret drew his tall head down and rubbed her cheek against his. "You
could not disappoint me," she said, serenely, "for all I ask of you is
your best. Give me that, and I am satisfied."
"You've always had that, mother," he returned, with a forced laugh.
"When you strike a snag, I suppose the only thing to do is to drive on,
so we'll let it go at that. I'll keep on, and do the best I can. If
worst comes to worst, I can play in a theatre orchestra."
"Don't!" cried Margaret; "you'll never have to do that!"
"Well," sighed Lynn, "you can never tell what's coming, and in the
meantime it's almost twelve o'clock."
With the happy faculty of youth, Lynn was asleep almost as soon as his
head touched the pillow. Iris lay with her eyes wide open, staring into
the dark, inert and helpless under the influence of that anodyne which
comes at the end of a hurt, simply through lack of the power to suffer
more. The three letters under her pillow brought a certain sense of
comfort. In the midst of the darkness which surrounded her, someone
knew, someone understood--loved her, and was content to wait.
Margaret was troubled because of Lynn's disbelief in himself. His sunny
self-confidence was apparently put to rout by this new phase. Then she
remembered that they had all passed through a time of stress, that Lynn,
strong and self-reliant as he had been, must have felt it, too, and,
moreover, the artistic temperament in itself was inclined to various
eccentricities.
Of his future, she never for one moment had any doubt. It was her
heart's desire that Lynn should be an artist. Looking back upon her
life and upon all that she had suffered, she saw this one boon as full
compensation--as her just due. If this bone of her bone and flesh of
her flesh might wear the laurel crown of the great, she would be
content--would not begrudge the price which she had paid for it.
She smiled ironically at the thought that, while credit was given to
some, she had been compelled to pay in advance. "It does not matter,"
she mused, "we must all pay, and it may be all the sweeter because I
know that no further payment will be demanded."
She was thinking of it when she fell asleep, and in her dream she stood
at a counter with a great throng of people, pushing and jostling.
Behind the counter was one in the form of a man who appeared to be an
angel. His face was serene and calm; he seemed far removed from the
passions which swayed the multitude. He conducted his business without
hurry or fret, and all the pushing availed nothing. His voice was clear
and high, and had in it a sense of finality. No one questioned him,
though many went away grumbling.
"You have come to buy wealth?" he asked. "We have it for sale, but the
price of it is your peace of mind. For knowledge, we ask human sympathy;
if you take much of it, you lose the capacity to feel with your fellow
men. If you take beauty, you must give up your right to love, and take
the risk of an ignoble passion in its place. If you want fame, you
must pay the price of eternal loneliness. For love, you must give
self-surrender, and take the hurts of it without complaining. For
health, you pay in self-denial and right living. Yes, you may take
what you like, and the bill will be collected later, but there is
no exchange, and you must buy something. Take as long as you wish
to choose, but you must buy and you must pay."
* * * * *
Margaret awoke with his voice thundering in her ears: "You must buy and
you must pay." The dream was extraordinarily vivid, and it seemed as
though someone shared it with her. It was difficult to believe that it
had not actually happened.
"I have bought," she said to herself, "and I have paid. Now it only
remains for me to enjoy Lynn's triumph. He will not have to pay--his
mother has paid for him."
At breakfast, Iris was more like herself, and Lynn was in good spirits.
"I dreamed all night," he said, cheerily, "and one dream kept coming
back. I was buying something somewhere and refusing to pay for it, and
there was a row about it. I insisted that the thing was paid for--I
don't know what it was, but it was something I wanted."
"We always pay," said Iris, sadly; "but I can't help wondering what I am
paying for now."
"Perhaps," suggested Margaret, "you are paying in advance."
Iris brightened, and upon her face came the ghost of a smile. "That may
be," she answered.
"Iris," asked Lynn, "will you go out with me this afternoon? You
haven't been for a long time."
"I don't think so," she replied, dully. "It is kind of you, but I'm not
very strong just now."
"We'll walk slowly," Lynn assured her, "and it will do you good. Won't
you come, just to please me?"
His voice was very tender, and Iris sighed. "I'll see," she said,
resignedly; "I don't care what I do."
"At three, then," said Lynn. "I'll get through practising by that time
and I'll be waiting for you."
At the appointed time they started, and Margaret waved her hand at them
as they went down the path. Iris was so thin and fragile that it seemed
as if any passing wind might blow her away. Lynn was very careful and
considerate.
"Where do you want to go?" he asked.
"I don't care; I don't want to climb, though. Let's keep on level
ground."
"Very well, but where? Which way?"
Iris felt the stiff corner of the letter hidden in her gown. "Let's go
up the river," she said. "I've never been there and I'd like to go."
So they followed the course of the stream, and the fresh air brought a
faint colour into her cheeks. As the giant of old gained strength from
his mother earth, Iris revived in the sunshine. The long period of
inactivity demanded exertion to balance it.
"It is lovely," she said. "It seems good to be moving around again."
"I'll take you every day," returned Lynn, "if you'll only come. I want
to see you happy again."
"I shall never be as happy as I was," she sighed. "No one is the same
after a sorrow like mine."
"I suppose not," answered Lynn. "We are always changing. No one can go
back of to-day and be the same as he was yesterday. I often think that
old Greek philosopher was right when he said that the one thing common
to all life was change."
"Which one was he?"
"Heraclitus, I think. Anyhow, he was a clever old duck."
Iris smiled. "I have sometimes thought ducks were philosophers," she
said, "but it never occurred to me that philosophers were ducks."
Lynn laughed heartily, thoroughly pleased with himself because Iris
seemed so much better. "We don't want to go too far," he said. "I
wouldn't tire you for anything. Shall we go back?"
"No--not yet. Isn't there a marsh up here somewhere?"
"I should think there would be."
"Then let's keep on and see if we don't find it. I feel as though I were
exploring a new country. It's strange that I've never been here before,
isn't it?"
"It's because I wasn't here to take you, but you'll always have me now.
You and I and mother are all going to live together. Won't that be
nice?"
"Yes," answered Iris, but her voice sounded far away and her eyes
filled.
Late afternoon flooded the earth with gold, and from distant fields came
the drowsy hum and whir of the fairy folk with melodious wings. The
birds sang cheerily, butterflies floated in the fragrant air, and it was
difficult to believe that in all the world there was such a thing as
Death.
"I'm not going to let you go any farther," said Lynn. "You'll be tired."
"No, I won't, and besides, I want to see the marsh."
"My dear girl, you couldn't see it--you could only stand on the edge of
it."
"Well, I'll stand on the edge of it, then," said Iris, stubbornly. "I've
come this far, and I'm going to see it."
"Suppose we climb that hill yonder," suggested Lynn. "It overlooks the
marsh."
"That will do," returned Iris. "I'm willing to climb now, though I
wasn't when we started."
At first, Lynn walked by her side, warning her to go slowly, then he
took her hand to help her. When they reached the summit, he had his arm
around her, and it was some minutes before it occurred to him to take it
away.
Iris was looking at the tapestry spread out before them--the great marsh
with the sunset light upon it and the swallows circling above it.
"Oh," she whispered, with her face alight, "how beautiful it is! See all
the purple in it--why, it might be violets, from up here!"
"Yes," answered Lynn, dreamily, "it is your name-flower, the
fleur-de-lis." Then the colour flamed in his face and he bit his lips.
Quick as a flash, Iris turned upon him. "Did you write the letters?" she
demanded.
Lynn's eyes met hers clearly. "Yes," he said, very tenderly. "Dear
Heart, didn't you know?"