The one man

Chapter I

‘H do not approve of it. You will never be happy as the wife of Judson Patmore. Love is not possible between a man of seventy and a young woman of twenty. In such an alliance your life will be a disappointment, your ideals blighted, and all that is best in a man of his years will be unappreciated by you. And Margaret, love will come to you, and when it does, Judson Patmore will stand in its way. And there is more — the man himself. I know he has gold — ^unlimited wealth, I am told, but he is twice divorced, and you cannot escape the sequelae of this unfortunate condition, for the sorrows of humanity weigh so heavily sometimes that gold even is powerless to out-balance them.’’

Thus frankly and emphatically exclaimed a beautiful dark eyed young woman to another — a fair haired blonde, her opposite in every appearance. They were seated upon a long sofa which had been drawn close to a north wdndow in one of the stately old mansions so much admired by travelers who pass up and down the river between New York and Albany. It was a beautiful place, and upon this October day it seemed most gloriously so from the abundance of autumn foliage which at this season of the year makes no more charming place in the whole world than the old valley of the Hudson. And the silence, — it too was marked — ^for although hours from eventime the stillness was singularly impressive. So quiet was it that one could hear the leaves falling one by one upon the lawn which stretched out from the mansion to the park gates leading into the highway.

‘‘But I shall marry Judson Patmore. I respect him, and — I may learn to — love him. You know that is the way sometimes. I am sure he is kind, and Fredrika — I shall have a place — I mean a place in society.^’

Fredrika interrupted her, ‘‘Margaret, you admit now that you do not love him, and it is wrong, all wrong for you to sacrifice yourself to him for a place in society.’’

The words angered Margaret, and a somewhat excited discussion followed, which ended when she declared: “And you, Fredrika Yon Hoffman, shall never know why I do this. It is a secret lying deep within my own heart. Women of your class do not understand.”

Fredrika felt the bitterness of the words : “women of your class” and asked for an explanation.

Margaret bit her coral lips. An explanation! She wondered if she could give one without telling her all? She would tell her a little, just enough to enable her to understand something of the temptation and the sacrifice. Just enough to bring her into a closer sympathy with the ambitions of the poor. And her voice softened when she found the words :

‘‘Fredrika, an explanation even in part will hurt you, as it will hurt me to give it. We have said much already, but if you insist it shall be given.”

Again Fredrika demanded the explanation and she urged her to be frank, assuring her that it was best for her to know the truth.

Margaret’s eyes fell, and bursting into tears she threw herself at Fredrika ’s feet. Ah, no, she could not tell her, her kind and beautiful benefactress !

But Fredrika insisted, and between sobs she heard these words: ''If you — ^had only — left me — in my own class, — with my own — people, Fredrika. If you had left me — ^there — to have — worked out my life — I mean — the life — ^the social — life to which I was born.”

Fredrika did not speak, and for some moments the girl wept on. At last she looked up into Fredrika ’s face, and again the tears fell bitterly. "I knew you would not understand, — I knew it would be this way, Fredrika.”

Still Fredrika made no reply.

Margaret now grasped her hands. She would speak ; and she would not weep, for had not Fredrika said a cruel thing to her? "Yes,” she cried, "and it was my undoing. It has made you even say to me that when I found love it would not be for the man who is to be my husband.”

She saw that Fredrika felt the rebuke, and she did not wait for her to speak. ‘‘But let us forget it/^ she said, “I have already said too much. I knew you would not understand. Ah, no, no one but the poor can understand.’^

Fredrika looked into her face pityingly, and unloosed Margaret’s hands. Both rose to their feet and Margaret turned towards the door, expecting to be forever banished from the home which had been hers for many years. Upon the threshold she paused as if to say good-bye; but at that instant Fredrika was at her side. “Oh, Margaret,” she cried, “do not go. Stay and tell me everything; for if in this heart of mine, or in the hearts of those about me there is anything which has given you one moment of unhappiness I must know it. Say what you will, Margaret, and I will love you better for your frankness. ’ ’

The blue eyes were overflowing. She had looked for retort, reproof, but she now followed Fredrika to the sofa near the window and with her golden head resting upon the shoulder of the noble girl beside her she reviewed the pages of her short and restless life.

It was one familiar to all, and but one of thousands which are daily breaking the hearts of men and women. She spoke softly, earnestly, as she pictured the real differences — from the social view point — ^between the rich and poor; between the family in the mansion where she was now a guest, and her own, in the old flsherman’s cottage less than a mile away. She talked of her childhood, innocently happy, when with other children she had gathered pebbles on the beach and laughed the livelong day. She pictured her father also, grim fisherman though he was, as a very king among men. She told of that day, when for the first time she heard her step-mother repining over the bitterness of poverty, and in a restless ambition declare that ‘‘Margaret should not suffer as she had done; that any life was better than one of such deprivation as she had known. She reviewed the incidents of a bright June morning — the day upon which Fredrika had reined her horse close to the fence and asked her for the strawberries she had picked in the old meadow white with daisies. She recalled the many succeeding days, when, as neighbors, they had exchanged the casual salutations which afterward had grown into a deeper friendship. And then of a well remembered day when she — Fredrika, had come to their humble cottage and asked the father and mother to permit her to become her protege that she might educate her and be to her as a sister. She lingered over the memories of the years which followed, of their college life and all their joys in common.

Fredrika listened thoughtfully.

Margaret paused a moment as if dreaming herself of those happy days. Then she began speaking again. Of the travel in foreign lands, of the delightful equality of both in Old World society. And then she lingered over the home coming, and the pleasurable anticipation in meeting her father and mother. She recalled how proud they seemed of her. And it was all so delightful until a certain day upon which she had heard her father say: ^‘It was a mistake. A mistake. God grant that it he not her undoing.^’

Her tears were falling fast, and only between sobs which convulsed her delicate frame was she able to continue her confession.

‘‘And Fredrika, it was a mistake. Do not reprove me. Do not think me ungrateful. It was all so delightful then, and you meant well, but you did not know what the results would be, what it would some day mean to me.’’ She had grasped Fredrika ’s hand as if to assure herself that she could go on.

“Oh, how hard it is for me to tell you of this terrible unrest; of the intellectual gulf which separates me from my father and mother ; of the discontent, even with my own home — my father’s house — which by every human tie should he sacred to me. Of the longing to be something, someone whom I am not; of the inner desire to now reach a social plane to which I was not horn ; of yearnings for an existence so far beyond my birthright and my surroundings as to bring me in rebellion with my own ideals, causing me to suppress them, to kill them, even my ideals of love, because of the impossibility of their realization” —

Fredrika drew her hand away. She leaned back against the sofa in her agitation.

“Ah, I knew you would despise me if I told you.” She said it pityingly, and reached forward to grasp her arm. “But even if you do, you will better understand why I cannot take your advice when you ask me not to marry Judson Patmore. ’ ’

She dropped her voice. ‘^Yes, Fredrika, I know how terrible it seems to you, how horrifying it is to you, and yet you cannot fail to see how differently, as his wife, my social position will be than it is now, — the daughter of an old fisherman. ’ ’

She repeated the words half sneeringly: ‘‘The daughter of an old fisherman; a young woman whom none of your class would condescend to marry. Ah! no; that would be a disgrace. It would mean social and family ostracism for the one and nothing but a life of regret and unhappiness for the other.’’

She took her hand from Fredrika ’s arm, and leaned away from her.

“What then is left for me?” she said after a moment.

She answered the question herself.

“Only two ways, and to-day I am at the parting thereof. I am choosing the least sinful. I shall marry Judson Patmore.”

Fredrika gazed at her with varied feeling. She had not once spoken.

Margaret’s face fell; her voice faltered; a look of intense shame and bitterness spread across her face.

Fredika leaned toward her.

“Margaret, I — ”

“Oh, do not speak! Do not chastise me! Also doubt me not; for I shall be true, Fredrika. My religion teaches me fidelity in marriage. It teaches me faith, even in the darkest night. It teaches me patience, and hope’’ —

Fredrika grasped her hand. She knew that Margaret was suffering. Oh that she would change her mind! She was sure she could adjust the social matters, sure that she could arrange a better marriage. ‘‘Your church, Margaret. You cannot marry this man!”

“Yes, I know what you mean, Fredrika. I know that the church does not sanction a marriage such as mine, marriage with a divorced man.” She spoke rapidly. Her heart was beating heavily against her breast; and she rose as she finished the sentence, “but God still lives, and His mercy will extend even unto me. ’ ’ Without another word she stooped and kissed Fredrika, and then hurriedly glided from the room, down the long hall, and out through the massive door, which bore upon its plate the ancient placard:

^‘Open not for, neither close thyself upon dishonor/'

Chapter II

When Margaret reached the crest of the hill on her way home, she sat down upon a shelved rock beneath a cluster of maples and looked back at the beautiful home in the distance. She almost regretted her rude departure and wondered if she had made a mistake.

After another moment the indignation which had suffused her cheeks and half dazed her brain subsided. She looked around and picking up some of the most beautifully tinted and perfect leaves, she broke off their stems and began pinning them together as she had often done in her childhood.

When she had completed a long garland, she laid it down upon the rock beside her, and quite unconscious of her position near the public highway, said aloud:

''I wonder if Fredrika will ever be the same to me again ? I wonder if it will ever seem the same to me in that beautiful home I love so well?’’

For a moment she rested her head upon her hand. ‘^Ah,” she said, '‘it might have been different! Yes, it might have been my home, too; my happy home if he had dared to speak. No, not that, — if he had dared to face the world. I wonder why he never told me? Ah, he could not, he is too honorable, too honorable to declare his love, without bringing with it an offer of marriage. I must never more wonder at this, — such trifling is not for men like Herbert Yon Hoffman — ^he would die first. ’ ’

She fell to thinking again, and her cheeks which had been so purple, became as pale as death.

For a few moments she lapsed into the silence of her own thoughts, then in faintly audible tones she said: ‘‘Yes, I comprehend it all; I realize the social viewpoint well. But it is cruel, yes, terribly so, to know that hearts like mine — ^like his — must break — or seal themselves forever — or else — that other way — ^the hidden love, which makes of homes such hells.

She sighed, and then in a voice which told of intense bitterness she cried aloud: “Oh, wretched social state, wilt thou forever make gold the barrier between the hearts of men and women? Gold the merciless god which enslaves the world?

She rose from her seat and looking again towards the Von Hoffman mansion, she sighed and said:

‘ ‘ Sweet Fredrika ! She advises me against this marriage. She is noble and good; but like all others who belong to her class, she looks through the social glass darkly. Even she would have frowned upon my marriage with her brother ; she, who calls me sister, would not have welcomed me as the real sister, her brother's wife."

Again she sat down upon the rock. It was a quiet place.

“I wonder — I wonder why I think of this tonight, when within an hour I shall become the promised bride of another man? Why may I not forget him? Why does my heart pain me so?"

She pressed her hand against her breast for a moment, drew one stifled breath and then in a half audible voice, a voice modulated with resignation she said:

“But it is of no use. Go I surely must — another victim of the social guillotine! My independence, my ideals, yes, even the highest emotions of my soul, sacrificed — sacrificed forever ! I told Fredrika that I believed that I could learn to love this man — perhaps I shall — I will try — • yes, I must try to love him/’

She bent her head into her hands for a moment. There was a whispered prayer; the closing words of which were wafted unto the gates of heaven: ‘‘God in Thy mercy help me! Oh, most Holy Mother intercede for me 1 ” Suddenly as if from a dream she looked up. She was face to face with Herbert Von Hoffman.

“Dreaming, Margaret?” he gaily asked as he reined his horse up to the rock upon which she was sitting.

As lightly she replied: “No, indeed, just resting and making a garland for the handsomest horse in the Empire state.” And saying this, she rose and picking up the long wreath she carelessly lifted it over the handsome creature’s head.

“Beautiful, aren’t you, Colonel?” and she patted his nose and his sleek arching neck. The horses of the Von Hoffman stable knew her well, and Colonel appeared to appreciate her compliments and admiration.

Herbert talked of the day and of the beautiful autumn forest tints, and then told her of the golf contest from which he was returning. She seemed not interested and almost abruptly she interrupted him by saying: “I am going home. It is growing late, and bidding him a hurried good-night, she walked rapidly away, disappearing around the turn in the little lane leading down to her father’s cottage.

The young man wheeled his horse into the highway and started him into a brisk canter, which soon brought him to the entrance gates of the Von Hoffman grounds.

‘'Waiting for me, eh?” he said to his sister, whom he met walking leisurely down the avenue.

“No,” replied Fredrika, “I ran down here to call Margaret back. We had a slight misunderstanding this afternoon, and she left the house so hurriedly that I thought to recall her; but she was too swift for me and I have been sitting here for some time. The breeze from the river seems delightfully refreshing. ’ ’

“By the way, I met Margaret down the road,” he said. “She was sitting on the big rock under the maples. I talked with her a moment, but she appeared to be in a hurry. She presented Colonel with the wreath he is wearing, and I thought myself that she seemed disinclined to talk. You say you had words with her, Fredrika ? ’ ’

“No, not exactly that; just a slight difference of opinion. I’ll see her to-morrow and we will be the best of friends again. Herbert, I think Margaret has changed in the last few months. Do you see her often? Have you talked with her of late?”

He did not reply directly, but made some remark about having not been at home of late.

When he met his sister he had dismounted, and the two walked side by side up through the long avenue to the house. The leaves crackled beneath their feet; even Colonel seemed to enjoy the gorgeously colored carpet upon which he was treading.

Upon reaching the south portico, an old colored servant met them, and taking ColoneUs bridle from Herbert’s hand led him to the stable.

Herbert and Fredrika ascended the steps, and sat down together upon the short seat which formed one side of the quaint old porch. She had noticed when Samuel took the horse that her brother had carefuly lifted the garland of leaves from his neck, and hung them across the back of the veranda seat. She also thought that his face expressed a peculiar anxiousness, something entirely foreign to him, one of the most genial and optimistic of young men. She wondered if he was ill.

''Herbert,” said Fredrika, after they had sat in silence for some time, "why are you so quiet tonight? You certainly do not seem yourself. Are you ill or tired?”

"Slightly tired, sister,” he replied, "the game was unusually prolonged this afternoon.”

She rose to go in the house.

"Stay, Fredrika. Let us sit here awhile, for really such an autumn picture as stretches for miles in every direction is not to be seen in any land but ours.” For awhile he talked about the maples and the sumachs, and then of other lands and scenes, and finally lapsed again into the silence of his own thoughts.

Fredrika sat quietly through perhaps a half hour of this silence, then rose and again announced her intention to go into the house. The fog was now rapidly rising and within a few minutes the entire place was surrounded with a dense misty vapor, which followed the suddenly chilled atmosphere.

He rose and followed her. The evening lamps were lighted and under them she observed that his face was pale.

‘^You certainly are ill!’’ exclaimed Fredrika as he threw himself into a chair near the grate. ‘‘I never saw you look like this ; you must have overdone this afternoon. Please lie down a moment while I go and see if Mary can serve dinner.”

‘‘Poor Mary! How patient the dear creature is with us, sister. It is past eight o’clock,” he replied as he threw himself down upon a nearby sofa.

Fredrika again asked if there was anything she could do for him, but again he insisted that he was all right, that all he needed was a good dinner, his cigar and a good night’s rest. “And I shall sleep too,” he said, “for as a soporific nothing ever excelled this autumnal atmosphere.”

Fredrika was still standing near him. She looked as if doubting him.

“Sister,” he said as he arose from the sofa, “I believe you are falling into the worry habit, which so many women have if their husbands, brothers and sons do not always act or look natural. Men like to be silent sometimes. Believe me, I am not ill. Please, Fredrika, don’t coddle me. I shall take you out on the links tomorrow, dear, and then you will not look so dimly through those beautiful eyes.’’

Fredrika left the room and a few moments later dinner was announced. He had gone upstairs during her absence and made a hasty toilet. Together they partook of the dinner in silence. One by one the courses were served, and almost untouched, were returned to the kitchen. The old butler and the faithful Mary shook their heads. They knew that something was wrong.

Long into the night they sat and talked, their work undone.

Together they reviewed the long years during which neither had scarcely left that home. They recalled an April morning in the long ago, when together with the family they had followed a patient mother to her last resting place in the old churchyard down the valley; and then with tearful eyes they lingered over the memories of another day, when with these children, they had knelt at the death bed of the revered father — their master.

For years they had wept with, prayed for, and lovingly served this orphaned brother and sister; and intuitively they understood that something troubled them. Never before had such appetizing food remained untouched. Never before had they observed such a silent dinner hour. Never before had there seemed such an atmosphere of depression over that happy home. When they left the dining room, Herbert accompanied Fredrika to the library, and taking a cigar from his pocket, asked to be excused while he smoked.

She took up a late magazine, and sat down in one of the easy chairs. She tried to read, but could not ; her thoughts were constantly upon her brother.

After leaving the room, he walked out on the spacious veranda facing the river. He had complained of fatigue, but for one hour Fredrika listened to his measured steps as he walked forth and back its entire length. He was still smoking, for as he passed the window she would catch the fragrance of his Havana.

‘'He is smoking,'’ she thought, “but he is also thinking ; and he is unusually absorbed. And he is not ill, else he would not walk." For a moment she put her hand up to her face. “No, he is not ill," she exclaimed aloud; “He is in trouble!" And in another instant she was hurrying down the hall. Nervously she opened the door and called: “Herbert! Herbert Von Hoffman! Why do you not come into the house? You have forgotten me for more than an hour!"

She walked down to the veranda where he was standing, and taking his hand, she said half reprovingly, “I do not understand why it takes you so much longer to smoke a cigar tonight than ever before. Do please come into the house, I am very lonely."

He threw away the unfinished cigar, and followed her. He sat down near the library table and taking up a daily paper made some casual remark about an accident which had happened on the ocean. A moment later he picked up his cap from where he had tossed it on the table, and said that he must go out to the kennels to see if Trixie would be in trim for the partridge hunt which he was contemplating on the morrow.

After he had left the room, Fredrika was in a most nervous state. Up to this time she had refrained from again speaking to him about his ill looks and his strange behavior. She would do so no longer. Some trouble which he was keeping from her, and which he did not want her to know was no doubt his excuse for going out to the kennels at that hour of the night. And then she recalled that Trixie was in the dining room at the dinner hour, and that even while he was on the veranda she had heard him calling her back from a passing carriage at which she was barking.

^^It is but an excuse to keep me from talking to him,’’ she was saying in half audible tones. '^No, he does not want to talk to anyone tonight. It is not business and he is too sensible to let either club or social affairs annoy him.” She rose and walked rapidly down the room. She would go out to the kennels. She would make him tell her.

For a moment she stood still as if not knowing what to do. She thought he might be angry with her if she followed him. Finally she heard his returning steps and hastened back into the library.

He came into the room and as he passed her chair he patted her beautiful hair and in his usual manner said :

Lonely are you sister mine? How I have spoiled you. It’s chilly out tonight; a forerunner of a fine day tomorrow. Trixie and I have planned a glorious hunt on the ridge though and will be off while you are taking your beauty sleep. Just think of a partridge pie the next day! Won’t Mary be delighted? She’s by far the best game cook in this state.

And thus he talked on and on : of field sports ; of the pleasures of rod and gun; of his dogs; and finally began relating the details of the golf game on the preceding afternoon. But it was all so forced, so unnatural, that he failed in his efforts to divert her mind in the least.

Finally she looked up at the little clock on the mantel over the fireplace and remarked on the lateness of the hour. She would retire. She rose and bidding him ‘‘Good night,” walked out into the hall, up the long staircase to her chamber.

CHAPTER HI.

Fredrika entered her chamber, but not to sleep. The one which she called her own was one of those spacious oval rooms found in so many of the old mansions throughout the Empire state. For half a century its decorations and furnishings had not been changed. The elegant plaster mouldings were as perfect as when first made, and the heavy paneled doors and casings were, even after the long years, white as snow. The carpet was a rose design in Brussels weave, and the heavy mahogany furniture her mother’s wedding gift. The pink satin over-curtains and filmy window laces only were new, but everywhere daintiness and unostentatious elegance were in evidence, — all a fair setting to its stately occupant.

For the first time in her life she was in a nervously strange mood. She thought what a terrible day she had passed through as she walked across the room to unfasten the window blinds. She looked out into the night. The moon was full and she could see plainly out beyond the bend in the river directly across from Margaret’s home. She threw open the window and leaned far out upon its ledge. She had forgotten her brother, and thought only of Margaret.

What of this day? WTiat of the tomorrows for this dear girl? She fell to reasoning again and her doubts and fears gave way to the more optimistic view.

^‘Perhaps,” she said aloud, ^‘perhaps, I do not understand. Perhaps she can learn to love this old man.”

She thought on and on: of Margaret and her possibilities. She even reproved herself for having spoken as she did that afternoon. Then her doubts came uppermost again and she exclaimed aloud :

‘^No, it is impossible! It is impossible, however much she may try, for Margaret to adjust her tastes, her interests, her mind, her love nature, her precious life to the fixed habits, to the already discernible senile, mental and physical states of Jndson Patmore ! It is not natural ! It is horrifying!’’

Again her thoughts became calm and she recalled the conversation of the preceding afternoon. She remembered an uncertain expression in Margaret’s face, a mysterious look in her eyes, as if there was more to tell.

She rose and closed the window.

wonder if there could have been ? But

no 1 he was only like a brother. I am sure she does not love Herbert.”

She sat down before the mirror of her dressing table and unloosed the dark masses of her luxuriant hair.

''Her own class! Ah I did not think that of Margare-t.” She thought a moment. "But not him — not Judson Patmore!” A fearful realization of it all came over her. She tossed back the glossy coils which hung over either side of her beautiful face and in angry vehemence she cried aloud: "No, it shall not be. Margaret shall not marry this old man. I will not permit it.”

Suddenly her attention was called to the striking of the golden clock on the mantel. It was two hours past midnight. The bright moonlight was filling the room with more than daylight splendor. She had no thought of sleeping.