Aunt Love had brought her the message, and she in her mystification read
it aloud. Something in Miss Berry's glance, as she met her eyes, made
her color rise finely.
"You need not speak of this to Mildred," she said after a pause, with
dignity. "I--I do not quite understand it."
"I don't either," thought Miss Berry, discreetly moving away. "Either
he's even more kinds of a gump than I thought, or else he's come to his
senses with a crash. I always knew when Gorham Page did start out to
love a woman somethin' had got to break; and it ain't goin' to be his
heart now, thank the Lord. What a pair they will make! My, my!"
Page returned on the second day toward evening. He hoped fate would
favor him by sending Mildred and Jack to the illumination that night.
It did not occur to him that Clover might have gone too until he neared
the house. Then the thought brought dismay. He had schooled himself
for days to work and conquer among dry-as-dust details of his
profession. Now, it seemed impossible to wait a matter of hours.
There was no one on the piazza when he ascended the steps, and the
evening being fine the fact appeared sinister. Miss Berry answered his
ring at the bell.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" was her greeting. "Glad to see you back, Mr.
Gorham. It hasn't seemed right not to have you runnin' in every day."
"It is good to be here again; but I am afraid you are alone to-night."
"Yes, the young folks are down to the Fair, as usual." Miss Berry's
keen eyes saw the disappointment in the earnest face. "I s'pose like as
not you wouldn't feel like goin' down any way, wore out as you must be
with all that heat."
"I would go gladly, if there were any chance of meeting them; but the
people you want to meet are the ones you do not happen upon at the
Fair."
Miss Lovina looked at him with a shrewd smile. "Then I guess you'll give
me a good mark for once; for it happened to come over me that you might
get home to-night, and I said as much to Miss Mildred. I asked her
where they'd be, and she agreed to stay by one o' the big horses till
the illumination was over."
"What time is it?" asked Page with sudden haste, wringing Miss Lovina's
hand cordially.
"Oh, you've got time, I guess," observed Aunt Love, with a comfortable
chuckle. "Now haven't I got a head for somethin' more 'n cookies, Mr.
Gorham?"
"If I should stop to compliment you as you deserve, I should miss the
appointment," was the hearty response, as the young man lifted his hat
and hurried down the steps.
The boy in the driver's seat of the Beach wagon just passing did not
bear even a faint resemblance to any conventional idea of Cupid; yet
surely no power less than that of the little god could have sent that
conveyance exactly at the moment it was needed. Page felicitated
himself on the occurrence; and in the whole history of the Fair it is
doubtful whether better time was made by a pedestrian than his record
to-night between the Sixtieth Street entrance and the Court of Honor.
But for all his haste, when he reached the giant horses his friends were
not there. He rushed from one to the other with frantic energy, but in
vain. No familiar face and form rewarded his search.
The Grand Court was lighted. The first playing of the electric
fountains was over; perhaps had been over for some time. Page was too
dispirited to look at his watch. For him the surroundings were stale,
flat, and unprofitable,--another proof that the Kingdom of Heaven is a
condition rather than a place. He was just about moving away with a
sense of disappointment which he condemned as unreasonably keen, when
there loomed up before him a vision more beautiful to his eyes than the
most lovely sculptured angel in the neighborhood.
"Well, Jack," he exclaimed, taking his cousin's hand, "here you are! I
was just looking for you."
Van Tassel smiled at the eager reception.
"Thought we had flown, did you? So we have, a little way. The girls
are sitting over yonder. Mildred has been sending me on periodical
scouting expeditions, lest you might come down. Glad to see you back.
Business go all right?"
"Yes, I'm all right, thanks. Didn't quite get a sunstroke."
Van Tassel was striding along to keep pace with Gorham, who had
instantly started in the direction Jack indicated. The latter smiled,
and did not make a further attempt at conversation until the settee was
reached where Clover and Mildred were waiting.
"You did come," said the latter pleasantly. "We thought you might hunt
for us."
"It was so kind of you," exclaimed Page gratefully, as he greeted them
both. "Now I can draw a long breath."
The four exchanged a few commonplaces concerning his trip, and then
Mildred changed the subject.
"We have cards for a reception at the Woman's Building to-night, and we
have been in a dozen minds about going: but I think it would be pleasant
to look in."
Gorham glanced tentatively at Clover. He had not been gazing at her
this evening as was his wont, and Mildred observed the change. "It
would be pleasant," he said, without enthusiasm. "Don't let me detain
you, of course. I haven't been here for what seems to me a very long
time, and I don't feel inclined to go indoors. Do you especially wish
to attend the reception, Mrs. Van Tassel?"
"No--in fact"--
Mildred spoke quickly, for she felt her quiet sister's embarrassment.
"The truth may as well be told, Mr. Page. Just previous to your
appearance she had flatly refused even to approach the Woman's Building;
so she cannot put on airs about relinquishing a pleasure."
"Then we might divide," suggested Page, with so much alacrity that
Mildred smiled; but the smile was fleeting. She had risen, and was
standing behind her sister. Now she placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Oh, my friends, look!" she cried suddenly, lifting her hand toward the
east. The moon was rising behind the Peristyle. Deep in the soft sky
it shone between the lofty white columns and cast a silver sheen across
the summer lake.
"This is Greece, and that is the Mediterranean!" exclaimed Jack.
Mildred, after a moment of gazing, stooped and dropped a light kiss on
her sister's cheek.
"Good-by, Clover." Then, with a loving pressure of the other's
shoulder, she added in a jealous whisper: "My Clover."
As the other two moved away, Clover and Gorham rose simultaneously. "I
believe we had the same thought," he said, looking at her with happy
eyes.
"Mine was to go to the Peristyle," she answered.
"And mine."
She took his offered arm; they started down the half-deserted walk, and
quickly came one of the magic changes of the place. The lights
vanished, and the colossal moonlit gateway of the Peristyle gained new
majesty.
"At last I can thank you for your letter," said Page.
"Were you glad to get it? I am afraid it was not much of an epistle."
"As if any word you would write could be anything but precious! It
breathed of you in every line. All things are made new since I read it.
My whole life, all my powers, every worthy thing I may ever attain, are
yours. Is it possible that you are really going to accept them, that
you can care for me, Clover?"
She felt his strong arm tremble under her hand, and it thrilled her; but
she was silent, and his impetuous speech rushed on.
"I have had to hold under with an iron will all my thoughts, the
contradictions, the hopes and fears, of the last few days. Last night I
dreamed of this. We were walking together somewhere, and the moon shone
on the water. I asked you to marry me, and you looked at me pityingly
and said--No. I reminded you of your letter, but still you shook your
head. Clover!"
He spoke her name with tender appeal. They drew near the Peristyle and,
stepping within, walked slowly down the wondrous vista of fluted columns
beneath the clusters of flower-like lights.
"My letter?" she repeated softly. "How could you value that trivial
little letter so much? What was there in it? I do not even remember."
Page stood still, to look in amazement into her face; but even in his
surprise it did not occur to him that she might be resorting to
subterfuge.
"I have the letter here," he said simply, thrusting his hand into an
inside pocket. "We will see."
Clover crimsoned to her throat. She did not wish to see the letter.
She suddenly feared it. What trick had been played upon her? Could
Mildred-- Oh, impossible!
Gorham unfolded the sheet before her reluctant gaze. Then with sudden
haste she took it from him, opened it, and read the closing lines. Her
breath came freer.
"Oh yes," she said, smiling in her relief. "I wrote that."
Gorham unconsciously received the paper into his hand. He was
scrutinizing her face. "What did you mean by those words?" he asked.
"Why, nothing," she answered, surprised and affected by his
agitation,--"nothing except what I said. Let me read it."
"Those last words," said Page briefly, indicating them.
Clover read obediently aloud.
"I wonder--you always seem so sufficient unto yourself, so much more a
man of intellect than of heart--I wonder if you ever feel, as I do more
and more strongly every day, our--dependence." The voice gradually
lowered, then paused; Clover cast one beseeching, troubled glance up
into her companion's face. It was as pale as hers was glowing.
"We always have been so impersonal. Of course I meant people in
general," she finished, low and quickly.
Page gave her a sad smile. "We have theorized and speculated together a
great deal, I know. So this was only one more speculation, was it?"
"Why, Mr. Page!" said Clover, scarcely above the breath that was failing
her. "How could you think"--
"I don't know now, myself," he answered with simplicity. "I suppose I
was so suffused with love of you that this one hint at reciprocation set
my head aflame, and brought on an attack of emotional insanity. I ask
your pardon; but all the same, Clover, I am not ashamed, and I cannot
regret it. It was my good angel who held your little hand while you
wrote that, for it gave me moments of such happiness as I never knew
before, and perhaps never shall again."
Clover wanted to speak and could not. She thought if he would move, or
take his gaze from her face, her courage might rise. She lifted her
eyes, but only far enough to note that the electric fountains were
flinging their jets of color aloft; the water taking new shapes each
moment with bewildering grace and rapidity.
"I never thought of you before as a woman whom it would be right for a
man to ask to come down beside him; I did not know that my heart was
reaching out toward yours until that day of the letter. Would you mind
telling me, Clover, how long you have known that I loved you?"
Clover drew a long, involuntary breath. "I did not know it," she said
at last, looking up at him bravely; and when once her eyes were held in
that compelling gaze, she did not wish to escape. "I only--hoped it,"
she finished.
The fountains fell and vanished. The dainty flame-blossoms in the
remote sculptured nooks overhead still added their soft radiance to that
of the moon. The lovers were alone in that colossal aisle, that
pillared temple, where for one transcendent moment they stood heart to
heart. It was the period of shadow in the Court. At the other end of
the lagoon, far away through spaces of darkness, the gemmed dome of
Administration lifted its cameos and starry crown against the heavens.
From the distance of the lighted Peristyle the deep surrounding shadows
gave a supernatural effect to this single lighted edifice, whose
triumphant angels seemed to move in the waving illumination thrown over
them from flaming torches. It was an aerial castle, with no affinity
for earth; an exalting vision such as visited the prophets of old.
"Earlier in the evening," said Page, almost too deeply moved to speak,
"I would willingly have turned from the Court of Honor. I could not
find you, and its company of angels was incomplete. Now, heaven itself
lies here. I ought to be a good man, my darling. You will help me. It
is a debt I shall owe for ever more."
*CHAPTER XXVI.*
*THE NEW YEAR.*
The reception at the Woman's Building proved attractive. It was late
when Mildred and Jack returned home that night. All was still about the
house. They parted in the usual friendly fashion, which both sought to
make easy, and each felt to be constrained.
Mildred went quietly to her sister's door and listened. All was still.
"Then she has been at home some time," thought the girl. "Good! That
speaks volumes. Poor fellow, I'm sorry for him." The _frou-frou_ of
her dress as she turned away almost drowned the voice that spoke her
name. Not quite, however. She turned the handle of the door.
"Did you call me, Clover?"
"Yes; come in."
"I didn't mean to disturb you."
"Oh, I can't go to sleep. I don't want to."
The speaker put out her hand, and drew Mildred down on the side of the
bed. The latter's eyes widened in their effort to penetrate the
darkness.
"Something did happen, then?"
"Yes, it is all right," answered Clover, and her soft, glad tone pierced
to her sister's heart.
"What do you mean by that?"
"He does love me!" What a different voice was this from the one in
which she had said the same words to Jack Van Tassel five years ago!
"Of course; but, Clover, surely you don't love him!" exclaimed the
other, aghast.
For answer, Clover took the hand she held and pressed it against her
breast. "With every throb," she said slowly.
Mildred stared, then threw herself face down on the pillow and wept with
abandon.
"Dearest, please don't," exclaimed Clover, shocked.
"I must," sobbed the other. "Oh, why did we ever see him! You are all
I have in the world. I hate anybody who takes you away from me."
"Nobody can, dear. You know that," returned Clover, distressed by this
rare flood. She slipped her arm around the recumbent form, and
interspersed her words with loving pats. "I am so disappointed, Milly.
I thought you would be as happy as I am."
"I am never as happy as you are," answered the other. "I know this is
abominable, but I've got to be selfish this once. I'm just envious and
miserable, Clover. Why should you always be blessing people and I
never? My heart is heavy, and it hurts me all the time."
In an instant Clover sank her joy in loving compassion. It was the
first admission concerning Jack that Mildred had ever made.
"My poor darling, I am so sorry," she said feelingly, "and I do not see
that you have done any wrong. Instead, you have been true to yourself.
Anything else would have been a dreadful mistake."
Mildred was so surprised that she stopped crying suddenly. "Then Jack
has told you?" she said without lifting her face, a belated sob
struggling in her throat.
"Yes. Shouldn't you prefer to have him go away?"
"No, not unless he wishes it. I would rather he stayed."
"Things will come right for you, dearest. They always do when one is
trying to live up to her standards, and to do the best she knows how.
Perhaps I have made you feel that even I thought you ought to marry him.
If I have, please forgive me for adding to the cruelty of your position.
I ought to have known that you would be glad, too, if it could have been
Jack."
Mildred rose to a sitting position. "Let us forgive mutually," she
said, wiping her eyes. "I am mortally ashamed of myself for bothering
you at such a time. Wait till to-morrow morning and see me redeem my
character by my treatment of that--thief!" She stooped and kissed her
sister passionately. "Why should I blame him, when I know that I would
not look at any woman but you if I were a man? What a lot of trouble it
would have saved me, by the way!"
"I don't know," returned the other with a smile. "You see I should have
been forced to refuse you."
"That is just like saying you love him better than me," with quick
suspicion.
"No, no; only better than that man you were going to be."
"Well," said Mildred, shrugging her shoulder in a characteristic
gesture, "I rather think I should enjoy the refreshing change of being
refused once or twice. As for you,--as if I should mind your refusal!
I should simply kidnap you." She stooped, and laid her cheek against
Clover's once more.
Aunt Love was a happy woman next day. She was quite a heroine in the
small family jubilation.
"All my life I shall owe you twelve added hours of happiness," Page said
to her, when she gave him a rousing kiss.
"Well, Mr. Gorham, you know I always was good to you," she responded
radiantly, and contented herself all day by drawing Mildred off into
corners to discuss this and that detail of "his" and "her" behavior
during the past weeks; "trifles light as air," but "confirmation strong"
to Aunt Love of a good time coming, and which she dwelt upon with such
profound delight and secrecy that Mildred had not the heart to refuse
her an audience for all the asides she chose to make.
Gorham Page allowed himself a brief period in which to realize his
happiness before returning to Boston, but his energies now turned
willingly toward his work as the means by which he could soonest carry
Clover to his own home and hers; and before he left, it had been
arranged that they should be married the following spring.
The day before the one set for his departure, Jack came out to Clover,
who was sitting with some fancy work on the piazza. Page was at the
hotel, writing business letters.
"Gorham says your cigars are too strong to be good for you," she said,
looking up as he struck a match.
"Yes, he has let out from the shoulder lately," returned Jack, puffing
his cigar alight.
"Do listen to him, Jack," said the other pleadingly. "Don't injure your
health."
"What is my health good for?" asked the young fellow, dropping down on
the edge of the piazza, upon which he extended one leg, while he
embraced the other knee as he leaned against a pillar.
"Don't talk that way," said Clover. Van Tassel had never heard her use
so acute a tone, and he was surprised on looking up to see her eyes
swimming. "It is wicked when one has friends who love him as yours do
you."
"All right, Clover. Thank you. I am listening to Gorham. This cigar
that I have here"--he removed it from his lips, and regarded it through
contracted lids--"might have become sauerkraut by a little different
process of handling." He smoked a minute in silence, then said:
"Mildred has gone away, hasn't she?"
"Yes; she has gone to spend a day or two with Helen Eames. Helen has
been urging her all summer."
"I think I'll go back with Gorham to-morrow," added Van Tassel briefly.
"Why, Jack!" Clover dropped her work and gazed at him.
"Yes, I'll go back." The young man flipped the ash from his cigar off
into the grass.
"Do you feel that you have seen the Fair?"
"Yes, too many Fairs." Jack smiled rather dolefully as he glanced up
toward the blue eyes.
"I can't urge you to stay," said Clover sadly.
"Oh, perhaps I'll come back," remarked the other cheerfully, "when I get
my second wind, as it were. The first supply has been about knocked out
of me."
"You don't look well."
"Oh yes, I am well enough."
"You have behaved like an angel, Jack."
He laughed. "I feel a little like one of those angels on the side of
the Transportation Building,--the sort you can pass under a door without
touching their buttons, you know."
"Did you plan to go without saying good-by to Mildred?"
"Oh no."
"I'm glad of that. It would hurt her."
"No. I will run up to the Eameses this evening and kill two birds with
one stone. I ought to say good-by to Miss Eames. She has been very
kind to me. That is," looking up inquiringly, "if you and Gorham can
spare me on your last evening. How is that?"
There was dew again in the violet eyes. "It does not seem right for me
to be happy when you are not, Jack," Clover said, unconsciously clasping
her hands together. "If I could only say something that would stay with
you as a comfort! I am afraid to seem to preach when my own lot is what
it is. You are plucky and have plenty of self-control, but I hope you
will not try to lean only on your own strength. We can all have faith
that, so long as we do right, the outcome will be the best thing for us,
whatever it is."
"I'm not kicking," said Jack quietly, "but I am going away because I
believe it is the best thing both for Mildred and me."
"Does she know your intention?"
"No. It is rather sudden. I only took it to-day. I have staid here
long enough to bring things the way I want them if it were on the cards.
Now, I will do the next best thing."
A couple of days afterward, Mildred returned from her visit. She came
breezily into the room where her sister was sitting.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you!" exclaimed Clover, starting up and kissing
her.
"Let us look at you," said Mildred, holding her off and scrutinizing her
with bright, audacious eyes. "No, they are not red," she continued; "I
thought I might be coming home to a Niobe."
"They are both gone," said Clover plaintively.
"Yes." Mildred turned away to a mirror, and began removing her
hat-pins. "I have been kept so busy consoling Helen Eames that I
couldn't come home any sooner to dry your tears."
Her sister look at her inquiringly. Was there any bravado in this
disappointing gayety? Apparently not. Mankind loves a lover, and
Clover, especially loving this lover, felt tempted to resentment; but
might it not be that Mildred indeed felt more light-hearted than for
months past? Why should she be blamed, if she found relief in the
knowledge that her home was free from a presence which had been in a way
a constant reproach?
"I wish Jack did care for Helen Eames," returned the elder,
unconsciously sighing.
"Yes; wouldn't it be convenient?"
"I'm glad you've come home, Milly. The house has seemed so empty."
"Oh, but what lovely flowers!" exclaimed the latter, espying a great
bowl of roses in a shaded corner. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"They are not yours, my dear." Clover smiled at her work. "They came
last night."
"They are beautiful. Did brother actually remember to have such a sweet
substitute sent you on your first lonely evening? I am proud of him.
What else interesting has happened?"
"Nothing, I think. Gorham received a characteristic letter from Robert
just before he left. He gave it to me to keep, with one that came from
Hilda. Perhaps you would like to see it?"
"Indeed, I would. Nice, jolly Mr. Page! I wish they lived next door."
Mildred took the letter Clover handed her. "I'm going to read it aloud.
It probably says nice things about you.
"DEAR GORHAM,--So you have won that sweet woman! Blessings on you, my
boy! I may be partial, but I believe you are somewhere near good enough
for her. Truth compels me to state, however, that your gain is my loss,
owing to the overweening satisfaction it is to Hilda. In an evil
moment, I underrated her prescience when she prophesied this happy
event, and the consequence is that I am considering living at the club
until the first blush of her triumph passes over. It flavors the
matutinal oatmeal and the after-dinner coffee. I cannot indulge in a
short nap without encountering a tall nightmare in which the wife of my
bosom pops out from unexpected corners and ejaculates 'I told you so.'
She sits opposite me now, writing a letter to go with this. I know
those are burning words that are growing with such swiftness. I can
almost hear the paper hiss. However, I am just as pleased as she is.
Please give Clover my love,--you see I am not slow to use my privilege
in naming her,--and tell her I am sure the world will be a better place
for such a home as you and she will make in it. Indeed, I feel more
than I can say on the subject.
"With kind regards to all,
"Your brother,
"ROBERT."
With the early autumn came the Parliament of Religions,--the congress
which, among the many that preceded and followed it, proved, to the
general surprise, to be the one of greatest interest to the public.
Miss Berry was indefatigable in her attendance; and her young ladies
were often with her. The names of those Orientals, whose words she
listened to as to music, were impracticable to her; but their dark faces
and graceful gestures were fixed in her mind forever. Aunt Love was one
of thousands whose complacent generalization of "the heathen" received a
blow.
Clover did her share in the entertaining of some of these scholarly
delegates from the far East; and Mildred found a totally novel sauce
piquante in the society of a handsome coffee-colored Indian, who wore a
pink silk turban and mouse-colored robe, and talked transcendental
philosophy in the purest English while gazing at her from long,
beautiful eyes.
Lieutenant Eames had rejoined his regiment, whether or no hiding a
heart-wound, Clover did not know. Mildred said nothing. October, the
busiest, gayest month of the Fair, came on. Such of society as had
hitherto been obdurate, now returning from seashore and mountains, made
one united, belated rush for the widely extolled Exposition. The climax
of attendance during one day came on October 9th, Chicago's own
celebration, the anniversary of the great fire, when more than seven
hundred and fifty thousand persons were in the grounds. The effect, when
one could rise to a slight eminence and look down, was such as is
observed in a trap so full of flies that there is only a general stir
and movement among the mass; no form is visible.
The day was faultless. Not a cloud flecked the azure against which
shone the groups of the Agricultural Building, that one edifice which
interposed no roof between its superb statuesque decorations and the
revealing blue of the firmament. The three mammoth fountains at the end
of the Court of Honor played in dazzling sunshine, filling the air with
crystals.
Clover and Mildred were present, attended by the Pink Turban, splendid
in his unconsciousness of being regarded on all sides as a sort of
embodied apotheosis of the Midway.
The ceremonies of the day began with what Clover's chair-boy naively
called a procession of "the hussies," although the Chicago Hussars might
have taken exception to the term. From that moment until late evening,
the interest was not permitted to flag. A tightrope-walker in cavalier
costume ran and pirouetted high in air before the Peristyle, the scarlet
and gold of his costume showing jewel-like against the pure columns.
A large chorus sang national hymns. The young liberty-bell pealed.
Hundreds of children in fancy costumes marched around the lagoons; but
the magnitude of the crowd defeated its own entertainment by the fact
that the procession of elaborately prepared floats could not force their
way through the avenues.
It was all very wonderful, but greatest of all was the fabulous splendor
of the night display. The Van Tassel party viewed it from the roof of
the New York Building. Surely, Chicago had earned the right to
celebrate herself by bombardments of colored fire, if so it pleased her,
and she did so this evening on a scale which trebled previous efforts,
and made the heavens as luminous as on that night, twenty-two years ago,
when she was the victim instead of the instigator of her pyrotechnics.
Once more the city meant to distinguish the World's Fair by novel and
striking accompaniments to its intrinsic grandeur. It was intended that
its close should be attended with a metaphorical flourish of trumpets;
but close upon this last day, shame and affliction visited Chicago in
the murder of its mayor, and all festivities were renounced. The last
hours of the existence of the Dream City were mournfully quiet.
"A bubble is always most beautiful just before it vanishes," Mildred
said to Clover, as they stood together in the Court of Honor on that
afternoon, waiting for the fateful moment.
"It never looked more lovely," replied Clover. They spoke softly, as in
a holy place, and with one accord looked up at the infinite message in
carven letters, the significant legacy of the summer's grand
experience:--
"Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
A strain of solemn sweetness sounded through the harmonies that poured
without ceasing from the orchestra in a neighboring pavilion, touching
every heart in that waiting throng.
The rays of the low-hanging sun shot for one moment past the side of the
Administration Building, gleamed through the waters of the fountain, and
traveled a swift path across the lagoon to illume for an instant the
golden Republic.
"It is the swan-song!" exclaimed Mildred.
A long, sullen roar sounded from the east. It was the first peal of the
salute which bade the Dream City vanish. The sisters clasped hands, as
they had once before in the selfsame spot. The eyes that had sought
each other, dark with excitement and anticipation, that day, now saw
through mists of tears. The myriad flags they had seen unfurled in
gladness now with one accord slipped down from sight, and the music died
as the message from the cannon's mouth told the country around that all
was over.
Jack had been with them on the opening day. Mildred could recall how
earnest and handsome he looked, standing with his hat off, carried away
by the spirit of the occasion. A great wave of compassion swept over
her heart, and mingled with the yearning and sense of loss in the air.
The weather was chill now and cloudy. She was glad to slip her arm
through Clover's and hurry home.
Soon after this, Aunt Love returned to Pearfield. There was some
discussion as to whether she should take Blitzen; but that sagacious
animal, as was usual when anything inimical to his interests was in the
air, seemed fully aware of her doubts, lost his high spirits, haunted
her like a silent ghost, walked when she walked, sat when she sat, and
whined as he gazed at her, until the persecuted woman yielded to his
mute entreaties. Electra stayed, and remained the heroine of her
latticed inclosure,--an additional reason for Blitzen to prefer
returning to his native heath.
Aunt Love's farewell was by no means a sad one. She was radiant as she
remarked how soon Clover would be her neighbor.
"And in that way we'll get you, too," she said to Mildred; but that
young woman demurred.
"Of course she will come," said Clover.
"I'm not sure," persisted the younger.
"Well now, my dear," said Miss Berry in parting advice, "don't you
wander through the woods too long and take up with a crooked stick at
last; but, whatever you do, marry a man o' your own color, who wears a
hat and coat instead of a turban and a bath wrapper. Remember that."
"I don't know," responded Mildred, with a teasing smile. "The Pink
Turban says he has a pair of very handsome diamond earrings. Perhaps,
if I should have my ears pierced, he would let me wear them a part of
the time."
"Go 'way!" exclaimed Miss Berry, with a repudiatory gesture.
The old Scotch housekeeper soon returned, joyful to be back again, and
felicitating herself that the Fair was safely over; and life might have
been supposed to move on as before, but it did not.
Clover had come into a new state of existence, the deep, constant joy of
which she never expressed in words. Except for the framed photograph on
her dressing-table, Mildred might have believed her equable sister to be
unchanged in thought as well as habit; but Mildred's own mode of life
was noticeably changed this season. The winter was a hard one. Cold
weather set in in November, and the reaction from the great business
activity of the year before caused a depression cruelly felt among the
poor. Charitable work was the order of the day, and Mildred entered
into it heart and soul.
"Slumming was never so fashionable," she said; and thus lightly
accounting for the new direction of her energy, she learned novel views
of life, which would modify her character in all time to come. Clover
was her efficient aid, and her friend Helen Eames sometimes went on
these expeditions too, under the shadow of her wing.
It was rather a grievance with Helen that Mildred never of her own
accord referred to Jack, and if questioned, made brief replies. Mr. Van
Tassel was a Chicago man and belonged here. He was, in Helen's own
phraseology, "perfectly fascinating," and not to be lightly dropped.
She intended to keep herself posted as to the probabilities of his
return; but Mildred early nipped her plans in the bud.
"We can't reckon on Mr. Van Tassel as a Chicagoan any more," she said.
"He is reading law very earnestly now in Boston, and he has lived there
so many years, it is home to him. Besides that, he is devoted to
Clover, and when she is married to his cousin, that will be another tie
to keep him at the East."
Upon which Miss Eames grew thoughtful, and fortune shortly after
throwing in her way an invitation to visit a friend in Boston, she
incontinently dropped her pilgrimages amid Chicago's back streets, and
departed on the most limited train available.
Soon afterward, Mildred received a gay letter from her. Mr. Van Tassel
had called, and had been one of the theatre party her hostess had given
the night before. She was having a charming time, and hoped dear
Mildred would not take something in those dreadful basements before she
could return to help her again.
"Wouldn't it be strange," Clover asked, when her sister showed her the
letter, "if little Helen should catch Jack's heart on the rebound, after
all?"
Mildred returned her look with unusual gravity. "Are men's hearts so
unfaithful, do you think?" she asked seriously.
"Sometimes," answered Clover, "when they despair; and women's, too."
"Then they are unworthy," Mildred said quietly.
No winter ever suffered more than this by contrast with the summer. In
public print and by private hearsay, the bitter needs of the poor
surrounded one. The corpse of the White City lay wrapped in a
winding-sheet of snow. The sisters never entered the grounds from the
afternoon its spirit departed. They looked askance, in passing, at the
buildings, with their cold, silent surroundings, where so recently all
had been life and warmth. The same domes and facades upreared under the
cold sky. One could only say as he does in glancing tenderly and sadly
at a dear, dead face: "How natural it looks!"
Little wonder that plans were innumerable for preserving a portion of
that dream of beauty, to be resuscitated and to become the joy of one
more summer; but the work of spoliation had begun, and would march on
inexorably.
"Miss Mildred has grown awful quiet, Mrs. Van Tassel," said old Jeanie
one day in confidence. "It's a wrong you're doing her, I'm thinking,
letting her quench all her bright spirits in those holes she visits."
"I think not, Jeanie," Clover replied. "Miss Mildred is having a deep
experience; but we can't help the sorrow in the world except by coming
close to it."
"I saw tears in her eyes the other night," whispered Jeanie profoundly,
"and I asked the poor child why, and what do you suppose she answered?"
"I suppose she had the heartache over some of our new friends."
"Maybe; but if she did, she wouldn't acknowledge it. She said 't was
because the Chicago Beach Hotel was closed for the season, and there
couldn't be any dances there!"
Clover smiled. "That sounds as if her spirits had not all departed,"
she remarked.
But she had been quick to observe the alteration in Mildred. Sometimes
she hoped that Jack's absence had wrought the fulfillment of his desire,
but she did not seek to probe her sister's feeling. If unseen influences
were expanding the entrance to the holy of holies in the young girl's
heart, what right had she to interfere? Sometimes she feared Mildred
was depressed by the prospect of a marriage which would break up this
home. Whatever the cause, the fact remained that her sister's interest
in society had waned, and the part she kept up in it was perfunctory,
and did not extend beyond those efforts which courtesy demanded. She
had never been more companionable with Clover, however, and the latter
had never enjoyed her so much.
Thus matters stood when the New Year was ushered in. The day was clear
and bright, and many thousands took advantage of the fact that Jackson
Park passed back to-day into the public jurisdiction. Curiosity seekers
and vandals poured down the strangely mute Midway Plaisance and through
the avenues of the Park. Clover and Mildred did not swell the number
who gayly parodied "After the Ball."
And now was to come the long pull and the strong pull of winter.
Mildred wondered in her own mind why the prospect should look so very
dreary. No other season had ever seemed like it. Doubtless it was her
new and close acquaintance with the griefs of others that had changed
the world, and made life a novel sort of struggle.
The new year was less than a week old when Clover received a letter from
Jack, announcing his intention to make them a call.
"I won't give any excuses," he wrote; "I admit that I am coming simply
because I want so much to see Mildred and you that I believe I shall do
better work after indulging in that pleasure."
"Loyal as ever," said Clover, looking up, and Mildred did not raise her
eyes from her work, but she was smiling.
Jack had said he could not set a precise time for his arrival, but that
in a few days they might expect him to drop down.
When his determination had been taken, Van Tassel pushed forward his
preparations with all haste, and his restlessness did not quiet until he
found himself, in the early evening of the 8th of January, walking down
the old familiar home street once more. As he reached the corner, he
suddenly observed that clouds of smoke mingled with large red cinders
were rolling up from the south.
"Must be a fire in the Fair grounds," he thought. "I wonder if the
girls know."
They were coming out of their door, with their outside wraps on, when
Van Tassel came up the steps, and they gave him a greeting in which
excitement and cordiality mingled.
"There is a fire in the Fair," they all three said at once.
"You will take me down there, Jack," exclaimed Mildred. "Clover was
going, but she hasn't been well and she ought not to."
Clover protested faintly, suggesting some of the rites of hospitality
for Jack's benefit; but he would hear nothing save carrying out
Mildred's wishes, and after taking a moment to deposit his bag in the
hall, he set off beside her.
"How is Gorham, I wonder?" murmured Clover with a comical little smile
and plaintive raised eyebrows, as she looked after the figures
retreating into the dark. "I feel as if I had been in a whirlwind."
She looked toward the once gay hotel; now, its many sightless eyes gazed
blankly southward. "I will go there," she exclaimed with sudden
determination; and reentering the house, she called Jeanie, and made her
hurry into her wraps. The housekeeper obeyed, with many a fussy groan
over her mistress' caprice, and soon they were walking northward.
They ascended the dark stairway to the piazza of the hotel, and peered
through the door at the office, where one dim light showed. Clover was
a bit frightened, but she knocked on the glass. A man appeared behind
the office desk, and, picking up the lantern which was the vast hotel's
single attempt at illumination, advanced through dark spaces, casting
strange shadows on the marble floor as he came.
"May we look at the fire from here?" asked Clover, wishing Gorham were
with her rather than Jeanie.
"Yes; I see they've got a fire down there," the man remarked
imperturbably, but he stood back for them to enter, and then clanged the
heavy door behind them. It echoed in the big empty hall, and Jeanie
looked so discomfited that Clover smiled, though she herself thought the
situation rather eerie.
The last time she had stood here, the place had been ablaze with
electric light, and gay with music and guests. She had ascended with
her friends to a balcony to view the lighted White City in the zenith of
its beauty, and to revel in the fiery marvels which mirrored themselves
in the lake. It flashed into her memory how enthusiastic the crowds had
been over the rising of a slender cylinder of light which poised itself
aloft, then slowly unrolled until the stars and stripes appeared in the
heavens. She could hear again the patriotic salutes from a congregation
of boats as Old Glory sailed away across the lake.
Now, all was hushed and dark. A second man, who appeared in the office,
struck a match and lit another lantern, by whose light he proceeded to
pilot the two women upstairs.
Jeanie muttered and grunted to such an extent that Clover relented after
the ascent of three flights, and the old man led her to the window of
one of the white-sheeted bedrooms, from which she eagerly looked.
"Oh, Jeanie, I am sure it is the Peristyle!" she exclaimed, gazing
horror-struck on the volume of fire and smoke visible through the bare
ribs of the Spectatorium. "What will--what will Mr. Page say!"
Involuntarily she pressed her hand on her beating heart, seeming to hear
the roar of those cruel flames.
Meanwhile Mildred and Jack had caught a train, which they left at
Sixtieth Street. The young man was glad that the tension of his
anticipations had been relieved by the unconventional circumstances of
his welcome. To be joined with Mildred in the present excitement was
far preferable to the doubtful home evening he had looked forward to.
Arm in arm they pressed forward against the cold lake wind toward the
shore, and did not pause until they had neared the Music Hall.
Only once Mildred spoke as they hurried on. "I am afraid," she said
breathlessly, "that it is the Peristyle."
"It looks like it," said Jack briefly. The hoofs of galloping horses
smote the hard ground, and the puffing of fire-engines was borne to
their ears before they reached the scene of confusion. There they stood
still, Mildred clinging with both hands to Van Tassel's arm, her wide,
horrified eyes fixed on the blazing Casino, the building into which the
Peristyle merged at the southern end, as it did into Music Hall on the
north.
The lagoon was coated with a thin sheet of ice, across which the sparks,
after circling around the head of the golden goddess, whirled up the
Court of Honor in lines of fire.
Above, the wind bore the glowing brands swirling over the great
neighboring buildings. Streams of water fell with no quenching power
into the flames.
"Why don't they bend all their energies to saving the Peristyle?"
exclaimed Mildred.
"That is what they are doing now. See?"
The dauntless firemen were fighting the flames at close range. A dozen
streams of water at once were directed upon the Peristyle; but in vain.
The walls of the Casino crashed in; devouring tongues of fire fastened
upon the first noble pillar and ate upward.
Van Tassel felt his companion shudder in her furs, and put his hand on
hers. The crowd that had gathered in the very spot where they cheered
the summer's pyrotechnic display were strangely motionless and silent,
watching with fascinated eyes and saddened faces as the fire crept
upward, leaping from pillar to pillar, ascending toward the statues
which stood serene and fair above smoke and flame long after the
watchers expected them to succumb. At last, each white figure in turn,
seeming suddenly to become aware of its environment, wavered on its
pedestal, hesitated, and with one shrinking look below, plunged downward
into the fiery chasm.
"Jack!" gasped Mildred, shivering from head to foot, her dilated eyes
never leaving the heart-rending sight.
For an instant, free of smoke and illumined gloriously, shone out for a
last time the heavenly promise:--
"Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."
"The Quadriga!" groaned Van Tassel, for the grand arch was seized upon,
and swiftly melted away in the furnace. No search-light of the summer
ever compared in grandeur with the effect that succeeded to the
crumbling of the staff below the famous group, the pride of the noble
Peristyle. The iron skeleton supports, laid bare, were invisible in the
night. Columbus, his chariot, the outriders with their banners, and the
spirited horses led by maidens, stood triumphant in the vivid light. It
was a sight of supernatural beauty. In the glare of the leaping flames
the snow-white horses seemed to stir restlessly and paw the air, as they
arched their necks and gazed proudly down into the glowing chasm.
"Jump, oh, jump!" cried Mildred; then, unable to endure the impending
catastrophe, her nerves strained to the utmost, she turned with a wild
movement, and sobbing, hid her head on Jack's breast.
He put his arms around her.
"The--the Peristyle has gone!" she exclaimed chokingly,--"gone back--to
heaven!"
"Yes, darling," he answered close to her ear. "My rival. Forgive me,
but you are making me so happy I can't realize anything except that I
have you in my arms. What does it mean? only that you are overwrought?"
Mildred lifted her face slightly, but away from the burning pyre.
"Your rivals are all gone, Jack," she said, as steadily as she could
speak. "Even I do not count."
Half an hour afterward, Clover heard them enter the house, and hurried
down to the parlor.
When she pushed aside the portiere and entered, she paused in amazement
and her heart leaped up, for Jack's arms were about Mildred and his lips
were pressed to hers.
They saw her, and in another instant she was beside them, her hands
clasped in theirs.
As she gazed at her sister, mute for joy, Mildred regarded her with a
tender version of her beautiful smile.
"I believe," she said, "this lifts the last cloud from Clover's
horizon."
"Yes," answered the latter rather unsteadily; "the world never looked so
bright to me as now. I think, Jack," turning to him, her face aglow,
"heaven itself must have grown happier to-night."
Van Tassel's eyes shone wistfully. "I hope he knows," he answered
gently.
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