J i 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 [ 
 
 THE SECRET 
 EQUEST 
 
 Hi 
 
 CHRISTIAN MEID 
 
THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 
 THE COLLECTION OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINIANA 
 
 ENDOWED BY 
 
 JOHN SPRUNT HILL 
 
 CLASS OF 1889 
 
 C813 
 R35se 
 
This book must not 
 be taken from the 
 Library building. 
 
 Form No. 471 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
THE 
 SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 BY 
 
 CHRISTIAN REID 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE LIGHT OP THE VISION," "a CHILD OP 
 MARY," "FAIRY GOLD," "vERA'S CHARGE." "HIS 
 
 victory," "philip's restitution," 
 'the coin of sacrifice," etc. 
 
 tkke em mmm 
 
 NOTRE DAME. INDIANA, U. S. A. 
 
Copyright, 1915. by 
 D. E. HUDSON, C. S. C. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE dusk of a spring evening was making deep 
 twilight in the large basilica-like church of the 
 Paulists in New York, lending a shadowy remote- 
 ness to the lofty roof and pillared aisles, while bringing 
 out with exquisite effect the radiance of the ever- 
 burning light within the sanctuary, which brightened 
 in steadfast glow as the obscurity deepened. Here 
 and there throughout the church a few devout wor- 
 shippers were kneeling; but it is doubtful if to any 
 one of them the spell of the place and the hour appealed 
 with a deeper sense of its spiritual and poetic charm 
 than to a girl who sat quietly in one of the seats near 
 the door. 
 
 Yet, had any one observed her entrance a short 
 time before, it would have been apparent that she 
 was not a Catholic; for she made no reverence to 
 the altar, nor knelt even for a moment before dropping 
 into a seat. But her quietness breathed a respect 
 that was almost devout, as she sat, motionless as a 
 statue, with an air of absorbing the influence of the 
 wonderful stillness and silence which surrounded her. 
 Now and again she sighed softly, as one sighs who 
 feels weariness yielding to a consciousness of rest and 
 peace; and but for the deepening shadows it might 
 have been seen that all the lines of her face were 
 relaxing from the strain of the day. Her very immo- 
 
 [5] 
 
 8£i034 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 bility was expressive of an attitude of the spirit in 
 which it asks only to lie passive and be acted upon, 
 drawing in refreshment from some source of infinite 
 tranquillity. 
 
 Presently one of the kneeling figures rose, genu- 
 flected toward the altar, and silently as a ghost passed 
 out. Thus roused to a recollection of the lapse of 
 time, the girl rose also, hesitated, and then, as 
 if constrained by some power too strong to be resisted, 
 bent her knee in recognition of the Presence that dwelt 
 behind the golden doors on which the distant lamp- 
 light gleamed, and, turning quickly, hurried from the 
 church. 
 
 On the steps outside she paused for a moment, 
 while the contrast between the ineffable quiet of the 
 church she had left and the turmoil of the traffic- 
 filled avenue struck her with a force she had hardly 
 ever felt before. Almost unconsciously to herself, she 
 had been for a brief space so far away, in regions of 
 thought and feeling so remote from the world into 
 which a step had now again brought her, that the 
 scene of hurrying tumult seemed as unreal as it was 
 discordant with her mood. She was smitten with a 
 sudden sense of the strange difference between these 
 two worlds, so far apart, yet touching so closely, and 
 acting and reacting one upon the other through a 
 thousand channels. Her eyes had for an instant the 
 rapt look of one to whom a vision was revealed; but 
 time was not allowed her for further meditation. A 
 distant sound, rising above the noises of the street, 
 warned her of the approach of a train on the elevated 
 road. She fled hastily to the near-by station, ran 
 up the stairs, and, breathlessly enough, found herself 
 
 [6] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 a few minutes later clinging to a strap in a crowded 
 car. 
 
 It was a very familiar position to one whose daily 
 work carried her up and down these avenues of the 
 narrow, congested city during the "rush hours" of 
 morning and evening. Taking it, therefore, as a matter 
 of course, she stood, steadying herself, with the ease 
 of long practice, to the movement of the train, and 
 gazing absently over the heads of a row of seated 
 men before her, when, somewhat to her surprise, one 
 of these suddenly rose and offered her his seat. With 
 a murmured word of thanks, she dropped into the 
 vacant place, conscious of a great sense of weariness 
 from her long day's work; and, as she leaned back 
 and closed her eyes, something in her pale, tired face 
 arrested the attention of the man who had surrendered 
 his seat. 
 
 He had succeeded to her strap; and so standing, 
 with his tall, heavy figure swaying slightly, he stared 
 down at her until the magnetism of his steady regard 
 lifted the lids from a pair of leaf-brown eyes, which 
 unexpectedly glanced up at him. Thus detected in 
 staring with apparent rudeness, he colored and looked 
 away quickly; but the girl who had met his eyes only 
 smiled a little. In her life among the working throngs 
 of the great city, she had learned too much to make 
 a mistake in reading a man's looks; and she knew 
 that in the gaze she had encountered there was nothing 
 of admiration, offensive or otherwise, but only an 
 intent scrutiny, as of struggling recognition. "Does 
 the man think that he knows me?" she wondered. A 
 very brief observation convinced her that she did 
 not know him; and, although his bodily presence 
 
 [7l 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 continued to stand in front of her, she dismissed him 
 from her mind, until, on leaving the train when her 
 station was reached, she found him behind her. 
 
 There was nothing in this to attract attention; but 
 the fact that he followed her as she turned from the 
 avenue into the street on which she lived, began to 
 seem rather more than accidental. And she was quite 
 sure that it was more when he appeared immediately 
 behind her in the vestibule of the house she entered. 
 Without a glance at him, however, she was about to 
 pass on her upward way, when he stepped quickly 
 forward, took off his hat and spoke. 
 
 "I think I can hardly be mistaken," he said, in a 
 voice full of the inflections as well as the courtesy of 
 the South. "Am I not addressing Miss Trezevant?" 
 "Yes, I am Honora Trezevant," the girl answered, 
 pausing and measuring him with a cool, level gaze. 
 "But I don't know you," she added with concise 
 directness. 
 
 "No, you don't know me, for the very good reason 
 that you never saw me before," the stranger replied, 
 with a smile. "My name is Maxwell." He produced 
 and handed a card to her. "I am a lawyer from 
 Kingsford, North Carolina, the old home of your family; 
 and I have come to New York specially to see you." 
 "To see me!" Honora Trezevant lifted eyes full 
 of astonishment from the card she had received. "For 
 what purpose?" 
 
 "For a very agreeable purpose," Mr. Maxwell 
 answered genially, — "to inform you that you have 
 inherited a fortune." 
 
 "17" She regarded him incredulously. "From 
 whom?" 
 
 [8] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "From your cousin, Mr. Alexander Chisholm, of 
 whom no doubt you have heard." 
 
 "I have heard of him, yes" (her delicate, dark 
 brows drew together as if such hearing had not been 
 altogether pleasant), "but I can not conceive it possible 
 that he should have left me a fortune, or anything 
 else, for that matter." 
 
 "Nevertheless, he has done so," Mr. Maxwell said 
 positively. "If you will permit me to accompany you 
 to your apartment — you live here, do you not? — I 
 can have the pleasure of giving you full details." 
 
 "Oh, certainly! Will you come up with me?" 
 she said hastily. 
 
 As they went upstairs together — the house con- 
 tained no elevator — she glanced at him critically, and 
 took in the full impression of his highly respectable 
 personality: that of a middle-aged, professional man, 
 with a shrewd, pleasant face, kindly though keen 
 eyes, and a certain note in manner and appearance 
 which differentiated him from the type of men with 
 whom her daily life associated her, and recalled a 
 type to which her own father belonged. She felt her 
 heart warm toward him as, notwithstanding a consider- 
 able avoirdupois, he mounted lightly enough beside her. 
 
 "Will you tell me how you knew me at once?" 
 she asked. "My name is not printed on my face." 
 
 "You think not?" He laughed. "I found it 
 printed there quite plainly. Are you not aware that 
 you are strikingly like your father?" 
 
 "I have been told so," she answered. "But I 
 didn't know that the likeness was so strong that I 
 might be recognized by it. Was that why you were — 
 er— " 
 
 [9] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Staring at you in the train? Yes. The likeness 
 struck me as soon as I looked at you; but I couldn't 
 be sure enough to risk speaking until you turned into 
 this house, of which I had the address. Then I felt 
 certain of making no mistake." 
 
 "It's a little strange that you should remember 
 my father so well," she said. "He has been dead five 
 years, and it was ten years before, that he left home." 
 
 "He wasn't a man one could easily forget," Mr. 
 Maxwell replied. "We grew up together, and I not 
 only knew him very well, but I was also much attached 
 to him. He was a very brilliant and lovable man, 
 you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know," she said with an accent of sadness. 
 "But here we are! I hope the stairs haven't tired you 
 very much." 
 
 "Oh, not at all!" he assured her, though conscious 
 of some shortness of breath, and much satisfaction 
 that there was not another flight to mount. 
 
 "You see, one gets a better apartment if one 
 doesn't have to pay for luxuries, such as elevators and 
 buttoned pages," she explained, while she fitted her 
 latchkey into the door which faced them on the 
 landing. 
 
 As it opened, a voice from within spoke fretfully: 
 
 "O Nora, have you come at last? What on earth 
 has made you so late?" 
 
 Then, over the shoulder of the girl before him, 
 Mr. Maxwell saw another girl, standing in the door 
 of a brilliantly lighted room that opened on the hall 
 into which they entered, — a slender, graceful girl, 
 with an arrestingly beautiful face, crowned by a 
 splendid mass of copper-tinted hair, which the light 
 
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THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 behind was turning into a nimbus about her head. 
 Her petulant expression changed to one of astonishment 
 as she caught sight of the tall, masculine figure follow- 
 ing Miss Trezevant, who said quietly: 
 
 "This is my sister, Mr. Maxwell." And then, 
 "Cecily, Mr. Maxwell is from Kingsford, and he has 
 brought us some very surprising news." 
 
 "I hope it is good news," Cecily Trezevant re- 
 marked, as she drew back so that the visitor could be 
 ushered into the room, in the door of which she had 
 been standing. 
 
 It was a pleasant and (for a New York flat) rather 
 spacious room, which extended across the front and 
 full width of the apartment; and it was furnished 
 in a manner which would have gone far to reveal the 
 past history of its occupants to the man who entered, 
 if he had not already been aware of that history. For 
 the few pieces of richly carved old mahogany, which 
 were mingled with some inexpensive modern furniture; 
 the family portraits on the walls; a desk bookcase 
 with latticed doors, behind which showed the mellow 
 leather of fine old bindings; and the Oriental rug 
 on the floor, which, though worn in spots, was still 
 full of rich, subdued color, were all eloquent, not only 
 of past prosperity, but of a culture and refinement 
 stretching back through generations. 
 
 And what the old mahogany and family portraits 
 indicated was to be read even more clearly in the 
 appearance of the two sisters; for race and inherited 
 culture had set their unmistakable mark upon both, — 
 on the pale, sensitive face of the girl who had sat in 
 the twilight in the church of St. Paul the Apostle, with 
 its soft brown eyes contradicting, as it were, the 
 
 ["J 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 resolution of the firmly chiselled mouth and chin; 
 and in the exquisite, flower-like beauty that in its 
 high-bred type made Cecily Trezevant look like a 
 princess very ineffectually disguised. It was not sur- 
 prising that Mr. Maxwell's gaze rested on the latter, 
 as he sat down on the wide, old-fashioned sofa, with 
 its cover of softly faded chintz — for men's eyes were 
 always attracted by Cecily — and it was her remark 
 that he answered: 
 
 "I think that I am quite safe in assuring you that 
 what I bring is good news," he said. "I have come 
 to inform Miss Honora Trezevant that she has in- 
 herited the bulk of the estate of my late friend and 
 client, Mr. Alexander Chisholm." 
 
 'You mean," Honora interposed, "that we — my 
 sister and myself — have inherited this estate?" 
 
 Mr. Maxwell shook his head. 
 
 "I mean precisely what I have said," he replied. 
 "You are the sole residuary legatee. Your sister's 
 name is not mentioned in the will." 
 
 'Why not? Why should such a distinction have 
 been made between us?" 
 
 'That I can not tell you. If you knew Mr. Chisholm, 
 you must know that he seldom gave an account of his 
 actions to any one." 
 
 "I didn't know him. I never saw him but once, 
 when I was a small child; and I hardly remember 
 him at all, except that he struck me as a — very dis- 
 agreeable old man." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell smiled. 'You evidently impressed 
 him more favorably," he said. "He was a man who 
 forgot nothing, and who often made up his mind 
 about people from slight indications of character. He 
 
 [12] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 has given good proof that he discovered something 
 in you that won his approval." 
 
 "I still don't see why Cecily should not have been 
 included — " 
 
 "Don't waste time in wondering over that," Cecily 
 broke in. "It's enough that one of us has inherited 
 a fortune; and I must say for Mr. Chisholm that he 
 showed his good sense in selecting you to be the one. 
 Who was he exactly, by the by? I seem to have 
 heard of him all my life, but I don't know anything 
 about him." 
 
 "He was our father's cousin," Honora told her. 
 "And I can't forget," she added, "that when papa 
 was struggling with the business difficulties which 
 finally killed him, he asked Mr. Chisholm for assist- 
 ance — and was refused." 
 
 "Perhaps it was remorse for that which made 
 him leave his fortune to you," Cecily suggested. 
 
 But at this Mr. Maxwell shook his head again. 
 
 "No," he said decidedly. "Nothing of that kind 
 influenced him. He never took risks in business, and 
 therefore he would not help your father; for he knew 
 that his situation was hopeless. I'm sure he only 
 congratulated himself on his refusal to do so when 
 the final crash came." 
 
 'Then, if it wasn't remorse, what did make him 
 leave his fortune to Honora?" Cecily inquired. "We 
 are only his distant cousins. Hadn't he any nearer 
 relations?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, he had at least one nearer relative!" 
 the lawyer answered. "It has always been supposed 
 that his grandnephew, Bernard Chisholm, would 
 inherit his estate." 
 
 [13] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "And why didn't he inherit it?" 
 
 "Because he angered Mr. Chisholm deeply by 
 changing his religion." 
 
 "By what?" Cecily's voice could hardly have 
 expressed greater surprise if he had said, by changing 
 his shoes. 
 
 "By entering the — er — Roman Catholic Church," 
 Mr. Maxwell explained. 
 
 "How extraordinary!" Cecily ejaculated; while 
 before Honora's mental vision there suddenly rose the 
 picture of a dusky church, wrapped in unearthly quiet, 
 where before a distant altar a lamp burned with steady 
 radiance, like the love of a faithful heart. She seemed 
 to have grown paler as she looked at the lawyer with 
 expanded eyes. 
 
 ' ' Do you really mean that the young man of 
 whom you speak was disinherited for no other reason 
 than that?" she asked in a low tone. 
 
 "There was no other reason that I am aware of," 
 Mr. Maxwell answered. "Mr. Chisholm was very 
 much attached to Bernard, and made no secret of his 
 intention of making him his heir, until he was 
 alienated by this ill-judged change of faith." 
 
 "It may have been ill-judged, but it was at least 
 honest and disinterested, since he has lost a fortune 
 by it," the girl said. "And of course," she added 
 quickly, "I shall not accept the fortune which was 
 forfeited for such a reason. I will restore it to him." 
 
 "Honora!" Cecily gasped — but before she could 
 say anything more, Mr. Maxwell spoke, with a rather 
 inscrutable smile. 
 
 "That is very good of you, my dear young lady!" 
 he said. "But I must tell you that it is altogether out 
 
 [14] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of your power to do anything of the kind. Mr. 
 Chisholm has effectually prohibited such an action." 
 
 "How?" she asked sharply. 
 
 "By stating explicitly in his will his reason for 
 passing over his grandnephew, and by further pro- 
 viding that no one who belongs to or enters the Roman 
 Catholic Church shall inherit or hold any part of his 
 estate." 
 
 Honora put her hand to her throat, where at this 
 moment her heart seemed to be beating. 
 
 "Then," she said, "if one who did inherit or hold 
 any part of his estate were to see reason to change 
 her religion, she would forfeit everything by the act, 
 just as this young man has done?" 
 
 "Exactly," Mr. Maxwell assented, "if the religion 
 adopted was the Roman Catholic. There is no pro- 
 hibition against any other. You can" (he smiled 
 indulgently) "become a Christian Scientist or even 
 a Buddhist, if your taste lies in that direction; but 
 you must not go to the Pope. I trust that you have 
 no intention of doing so," he added. "In fact, I am 
 bound, as executor of the will, to ask an assurance of 
 the kind from you." 
 
 "How utterly absurd!" Cecily exclaimed. "Mr. 
 Chisholm was surely a survival of a type of two or 
 three centuries ago. Who in these days cares enough 
 about religion to make sacrifices for it?" 
 
 "Apparently Mr. Bernard Chisholm does," Honora 
 said. Then she met the lawyer's eyes with a full, 
 clear glance. "You want an assurance that I am not 
 a Catholic?" she asked. "It is easily given. I am 
 not." 
 
 "Well, that's the only condition of your inheriting," 
 
 [15] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 he told her cheerfully; "so you'll let me congratulate 
 you very warmly on the large fortune you have come 
 into. Mr. Chisholm began life with only moderate 
 means; but he was one of the men who have a 
 positive genius for making money. Whatever he 
 touched prosperec. And he touched pretty nearly 
 everything in our part of the country — banks, factories, 
 mines, railways. Consequently he accumulated a very 
 large estate." 
 
 "And does it all come to Honora?" Cecily asked. 
 
 "There are a few minor bequests," Mr. Maxwell 
 replied, "but the bulk of the estate is bequeathed 
 to her." 
 
 "And how much does it amount to?" 
 
 "That's rather difficult to say at present; but 
 certainly not less than a million dollars, and perhaps 
 a good deal more." 
 
 "A million dollars!" Cecily's eyes shone like stars. 
 "O Nora, did you ever dream of such marvellous 
 good fortune coming to us?" 
 
 "Never," Honora answered, with an accent so 
 grave that Mr. Maxwell looked at her curiously. 
 
 "You are not so much elated as your sister," he 
 remarked. "Yet you know such a fortune will give 
 you power to order your life as you please, and to 
 do many things that you must have desired to do." 
 
 "I shall realize that after a while, no doubt," she 
 answered; "but just now I can think only of the man 
 who has lost what I have gained." 
 
 "You are not responsible for his loss, and you 
 should not let it shadow your pleasure in your 
 inheritance." 
 
 "You certainly should not," Cecily agreed em- 
 
 [16] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 phatically. "Mr. Bernard Chisholm must have counted 
 the cost of what he did, and therefore he is not entitled 
 to compassion." 
 
 "It would be the last thing he would ask, I am 
 sure," Mr. Maxwell said. "He has taken his loss in 
 a very fine spirit; and you'll let me remind you that 
 it is better for a young man to have his own way to 
 make in the world than for a gently-bred girl." 
 
 Honora glanced involuntarily at the beautiful face 
 of her sister, and caught her breath, as if at the 
 lifting of some dark shadow of fear. 
 
 "You are right," she said then. "It is better. 
 And I will not think any more of what I can not help, 
 but only be grateful for the good fortune which has 
 come to us." 
 
 The lawyer nodded approvingly. 
 
 "That's the proper way to regard it," he said. 
 "Now a few words on business. I had to come to New 
 York to find you, because no one in Kingsford could 
 give me your address; and I've had some trouble 
 here in getting it, or I should have seen you earlier. 
 But, now that I've found you, I want to know when 
 you can come down to North Carolina. There are 
 many things connected with the estate to be settled, 
 and the presence of the owner is absolutely necessary." 
 
 "I can go in a few days," Honora replied. "I 
 will give up my position to-morrow— I've been working 
 as a stenographer in a business office, you know, — 
 and then we have only to arrange to leave this apart- 
 ment, see about our furniture — " 
 
 "And do some shopping for our personal needs," 
 Cecily reminded her in an admonitory tone. 
 
 "Ah, yes!" Mr. Maxwell assented. "You will of 
 
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THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 course have various expenses to meet, and no doubt 
 you'll wish to draw some money for the purpose. 
 To-morrow I shall put five thousand dollars to your 
 credit in bank — " 
 
 "Five thousand!" Honora gasped. "Oh, that is 
 much more than will be required!" 
 
 "Perhaps so, and perhaps not," he replied, with a 
 smile. "You must understand that you have now 
 a large income to spend. I'll bring you a check-book 
 to-morrow — or perhaps you'll meet me down-town, 
 where I can introduce you at the bank; and you and 
 Miss Cecily will then, I hope, do me the honor of 
 lunching with me?" 
 
 "We'll be delighted," Cecily responded before her 
 sister could speak. "Just tell me where we are to 
 meet you, and I'll see that Honora is there on time. 
 To be introduced to a bank account is far too interest- 
 ing an experience to be deferred." 
 
 [18] 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 AFTER their visitor had gone, the two sisters 
 looked at each other for a moment in speech- 
 less wonder. Then — 
 
 "Pinch me!" Cecily cried, holding out her arm. 
 "Make me sure that I'm not asleep and dreaming! 
 Oh, can it be true, do you think, — can it be really 
 true that anything so astounding as this has happened?" 
 
 "Mr. Maxwell is certainly very real," Honora 
 answered. "And he wouldn't have been likely to come 
 to New York in search of us — " 
 
 "Of you, you mean." 
 
 "Well, of me — if there had been any doubt of 
 the inheritance." 
 
 Five thousand dollars deposited in bank certainly 
 sounds very convincing," Cecily conceded. "But 
 when one thinks of a million, and remembers what 
 we have been living on — you, poor dear, slaving at a 
 typewriter in that dreadful office down-town, for 
 fifteen dollars a week, and I earning a few pennies by 
 putting a little paint on cards and fans, so that the 
 shops can ask a high price for them as 'hand-painted' — 
 the contrast is so great that no wonder my brain is 
 reeling." 
 
 "Try to steady it by thinking of the happiness 
 it will be to leave this city of struggle and tumult and 
 go home, where people have time to possess their souls 
 
 [19] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 in quiet, where they think of something beside money, 
 and where one can rest, — rest as long as one likes." 
 
 "I don't want to rest," Cecily declared. "I want 
 change, pleasure, excitement. I want to live, not 
 merely exist; and Kingsford doesn't commend itself 
 to me as exactly the place for that." 
 
 "You don't know anything about Kingsford," 
 Honora reminded her. "You were hardly more than 
 a babv when we left there." 
 
 J 
 
 "I know what all places of the kind are like," 
 Cecily returned. "And, for me, I want the world." 
 (She opened her arms wide, as if they were wings with 
 which she might fly.) "I want to go everywhere, to 
 see and do and taste everything, now while I am young. 
 One is young only such a little while; and I've been 
 afraid, desperately afraid, that I should grow old 
 before I could live." 
 
 The elder sister's eyes filled with tears of sheer 
 emotion as she looked at the beautiful young creature, 
 panting on the threshold of life for all that youth 
 desires so ardently; and realized with a thrill of 
 pleasure, poignant as pain, that it was in her power to 
 satisfy those desires. It seemed incredible, but it was 
 true: the greatest power on earth, that of money, 
 had been placed in her hand; and Cecily could have 
 all that she longed for — before she grew old. 
 
 "You shall have everything that you want, — every- 
 thing!" Honora told her passionately. "You don't 
 know how I have suffered in not being able to give 
 you anything you've wanted hitherto." 
 
 "You've given me shelter and food and clothing," 
 Cecily said, "and that was more than satisfying my 
 craving for things as far beyond my reach as the sky 
 
 [20] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 is beyond the earth. I should be an ingrate of ingrates 
 if I ever forgot it. But now we are both going to have 
 all that we want, and be happy, — oh, so happy, you 
 dear darling!" 
 
 She flung herself upon her sister. Demonstrations 
 of affection were not usually much in Cecily's way; 
 but this was an occasion which opened the floodgates 
 of feeling even with her. And for a minute they 
 laughed and cried together in each other's arms. 
 Characteristically, Cecily recovered composure first. 
 
 "You deserve good fortune, if anybody in the 
 world ever did," she said, patting the shoulder under 
 her hand, as she drew back. "I've a higher respect 
 for Providence since this has come to you, and an 
 immense gratitude toward old Mr. Chisholm. It's a 
 pity one can't do something to show one's gratitude 
 to him. The Catholics he seems to have hated so 
 badly have an advantage over us in that respect: 
 they can pray for their friends and benefactors after 
 they are dead. Of course it's more than likely that 
 the prayers do them no good ; but they are a satisfaction 
 to the living, anyway." 
 
 "I believe they are more than that," Honora said; 
 "and I shall certainly pray for him." 
 
 "Oh, but you mustn't! He would hate it." 
 
 "Not where he is, I think. He has probably learned 
 by this time how foolish his hatred was." 
 
 "Then he must be a very uncomfortable old gentle- 
 man in realizing how he has treated his nephew for 
 no other cause than that he became a Catholic." 
 
 If it occurred to Honora that perhaps the late Mr. 
 Chisholm had more reasons for being uncomfortable 
 than his treatment of his nephew, she did not express 
 
 [21] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the thought. And after an instant Cecily went on 
 meditatively : 
 
 'What an extraordinary young man that must be! 
 I have a great curiosity to see him, haven't you?" 
 
 "No," Honora answered decidedly; "for I shall 
 feel as if I had robbed him." 
 
 "But you know that you've done nothing of the kind. 
 It was no fault of yours that Mr. Chisholm left his 
 fortune to you." 
 
 "I'm not so stupid as not to understand that. 
 But it's an uncomfortable thing to take somebody 
 else's inheritance; and I wish I might at least share 
 it with the man to whom it should rightfully be- 
 long." 
 
 "But you can't (Mr. Maxwell made that quite 
 clear), so what is the good of letting your mind dwell 
 on the matter? Always try to forget what you can't 
 help. That's my philosophy. I absolutely refuse to 
 let things worry me, even when they are my own 
 troubles; and I'm certainly not going to worry over 
 the troubles of Mr. Bernard Chisholm, which he has 
 brought on himself." 
 
 "By following his conscience." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense! I've no patience with people who 
 make themselves and others uncomfortable by what 
 they call following their conscience. They are always 
 conceited, narrow-minded, and tiresome; setting them- 
 selves up to have a higher standard than anybody 
 else. Now, why couldn't this young man have kept 
 quiet about his Catholic proclivities, let his uncle 
 die in peace, and then have done what he liked? That 
 would have been sensible." 
 
 "And do you think it would have been honorable?" 
 
 [22] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Why not? He had a right to his own opinions, 
 hadn't he?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly. But he didn't have a right — in 
 honor — to take his uncle's money, knowing that he 
 would never have left it to him if he had been aware 
 of what he meant to do." 
 
 "I may be obtuse, but I don't see why not," Cecily 
 said carelessly. "It's luck for us, however, that he 
 had your point of view rather than mine. And now 
 we needn't discuss him further." She made a gesture 
 dismissing Mr. Bernard Chisholm from the conver- 
 sation. "Our own affairs are so much more interesting. 
 Let us begin at once and make a list of the things we 
 must get to-morrow. Only think" (she fairly shivered 
 with delight) "of being able to get whatever we want!" 
 
 It was to Cecily, at least, such an absorbing 
 matter, the making out of that list; the growing 
 consciousness of the possession of money with which 
 to purchase all that her needs and taste demanded 
 was so new and enchanting, that hours went by 
 unheeded; and it was after midnight when Honora 
 found herself at last in her small chamber alone. 
 
 Then she sat down, and, with her head in her 
 hands, tried to realize the astounding change which 
 had come to her. In its suddenness and its unexpected- 
 ness, it was certainly calculated to make the brain 
 reel, as Cecily had said. For she had never any more 
 imagined the possibility of such an inheritance than 
 of finding herself the occupant of a throne; could 
 never have conceived it possible that the wealthy old 
 cousin, who had refused to help her father in his dire 
 strait of financial difficulty, would even remember her 
 
 {23} 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 existence, much less consider her as a possible heir 
 for his large estate. Why had he considered her? 
 His reason for discarding the nephew who had been 
 so close to him, was explicitly stated; but why should 
 the keen man of business have selected, out of a wide 
 family connection, a girl whom he did not even 
 know? 
 
 The mystery of such a selection seemed to Honora, 
 with her knowledge of the world, altogether inexplic- 
 able; since she was quite sure that Mr. Maxwell was 
 right in saying that remorse for having withheld the 
 assistance which might have saved her father's credit 
 and his life had nothing to do with it. In the creed 
 of men like Mr. Chisholm, business was something 
 altogether apart from human feeling; and he would 
 not have felt himself accountable in any degree for 
 the bankruptcy and death of the cousin he had declined 
 to aid. Why, then, in looking for an heir, had he 
 thought of that cousin's daughter, the girl whom he 
 had not made the faintest effort to help during the 
 five years in which she had borne on her young shoulders 
 the entire burden of family support, had seen her 
 mother sink under sorrow and privation, and follow 
 her father to the grave, and whose gallant struggle 
 sufficed only to keep her own and her sister's head 
 above water in the pitiless whirlpool of New York? 
 How much it would have meant to her — a word of 
 sympathy, a little help — in the terrible days of which 
 even yet she could hardly bear to think! But no such 
 word or help had been forthcoming; and now, when 
 she had won for herself a foothold, small though it 
 was, a fortune of a million dollars was tossed into her 
 lap. Again, what did it mean? Why had the old 
 
 [24] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 man, called away from all his great possessions, chosen 
 her to assume their burden? 
 
 An instinct that he had a reason for this choice, 
 which would presently be revealed to her, made her 
 suddenly remember that, as Mr. Maxwell was leaving, 
 he had drawn from his inner breast pocket a long blue 
 envelope, which he handed to her, saying: 
 
 "I've brought you a copy of the will, which you 
 can read at your leisure. Perhaps you had better 
 glance over it before I see you to-morrow; and — er — 
 you'll find a letter there also, addressed to yourself." 
 
 In the excitement of the moment, she had hardly 
 grasped the meaning of the last words. But now they 
 recurred to her, charged with a certain significance 
 of tone and expression. At the time she had taken 
 for granted that the letter spoken of was from him- 
 self — some statement about the property probably, — 
 but now she knew otherwise: now she felt sure that 
 it had been written by Mr. Chisholm, and that in it 
 she would find the mystery of her inheritance explained. 
 
 With a quick movement she sprang to her feet. 
 She had laid the envelope away without examination 
 when she went to. the desk to make out Cecily's list. 
 That list had seemed at the moment much more im- 
 portant than reading the will which gave her the 
 power to make it; but now the conviction was borne 
 to her that nothing could be more important than 
 the letter which lay awaiting her in the long blue 
 envelope she had thrust so carelessly into a pigeon- 
 hole. 
 
 A step carried her into the sitting room, which 
 her chamber adjoined; a touch switched on the light, 
 and a moment later she sat at the desk, with the 
 
 [25] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 envelope before her. As she opened it, and drew out 
 the paper which it contained, she was conscious that 
 her heart was beating painfully. "The last will and 
 testament of Alexander Chisholm," — so much she 
 saw at a glance as she unfolded the paper. But she 
 read no more; for within it lay a letter, sealed with 
 wax, and addressed to herself in a handwriting she 
 had never seen before, — a cramped and somewhat 
 tremulous, but very clear writing, which conveyed 
 a singular impression of force of character. 
 
 It was with a feeling as if some emanation from the 
 spirit of the dead man reached her, that she broke 
 the seal of the envelope, noting the Chisholm crest 
 upon it as she did so, and took out the folded sheet 
 within, which his hand had touched last. The con- 
 striction about her heart increased. What would she 
 find that he had written? What conditions would 
 he perhaps impose as the price of her holding the 
 fortune he had bequeathed to her? Her thoughts 
 flew to Cecily; and, with a sickening fear of dis- 
 appointment, she opened the letter, where the same 
 clear, forcible writing met her gaze; and found that 
 it began very simply, as follows: 
 
 "My dear Honora: — I address you in this manner 
 not only because we are cousins, and you are a young 
 girl while I am an old man, but also because I have 
 never forgotten the impression you made upon me 
 when I chanced to see you some sixteen years ago, 
 just before your father made his ill-advised move to 
 New York. Possibly you have forgotten the meeting, 
 but I remember it well; and it has struck me more 
 than once that there must have been something quite 
 
 [26] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 uncommon about the child who could so impress herself 
 upon my memory. I knew that I had not been mis- 
 taken in this judgment when I heard of the manner 
 in which you took charge of your family after your 
 father's death. It was a hard struggle no doubt, and 
 a severe test of character and ability; but without 
 such a test you could not have proved yourself, and 
 I would not have conceived the idea of entrusting 
 you with a great responsibility. 
 
 "After the crash in your father's fortunes, and es- 
 pecially after his death, I expected to receive an appeal 
 for help from you (as the richest man of a large family 
 connection, I have had many such appeals from others 
 with much less to justify them), and I was ready to 
 respond if you had made this appeal. But you did 
 not make it; and, knowing how you were situated, 
 my respect for you increased, as well as my interest in 
 learning how you would acquit yourself in the struggle 
 you had undertaken. You will wonder perhaps if I 
 had at this time any thought of making you my heir. 
 I had none at all; but I was interested in you for 
 the reasons I have given; and I like pluck, good sense, 
 and an independent spirit. 
 
 "This is a necessary preface to explain why I have, 
 in the will which I have just signed, selected you as 
 the inheritor of my estate, and why I am now writing 
 you this letter. Both are curious things to do; but if 
 you do not understand the motives which have led 
 me to do them (after I have made these motives clear), 
 you are not the person I have taken you to be. It 
 is rather strange that I should feel an assurance that 
 you will understand, though I have never seen you 
 except as a large-eyed, thoughtful-looking child. But 
 
 [27] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 I do feel this assurance, together with a sense that I 
 am safe in trusting you, — which is even more strange, 
 for life has not given me much encouragement in 
 trusting people. 
 
 "Briefly, then, having reached an age at which I 
 must face the necessity of laying down all that I have 
 spent my life in gathering, and go empty-handed into 
 the great darkness, leaving to others the fruits of my 
 long labor, it is necessary that I should find an heir 
 to inherit my estate. Up to the present time I have 
 thought that I had found one in the person of my 
 nearest relative and natural heir, my grandnephew, 
 Bernard Chisholm. But circumstances have arisen 
 which have made it impossible that I should carry out 
 my intentions with regard to him. He has defied my 
 wishes, renounced the faith of his fathers, and gone 
 over body and soul to the idolatries of Rome. This 
 puts it wholly out of the question that I can leave my 
 fortune to him, lest any part of it should be spent in 
 support of that religion. 
 
 "I gave him warning, when he first spoke to me 
 of his intention, that if he carried it out he would 
 never inherit a dollar from me. And when he came 
 and told me that he had "entered the Church," as 
 he called it, I simply tore up before his eyes the will 
 which named him as my heir. Having done so, it 
 was imperative that I should at once choose another 
 heir; for if I died intestate the law would give him 
 what I had denied. And then, as if by an inspiration, 
 my thoughts turned to you. I liked everything I had 
 ever heard of you. I knew you to be capable and 
 faithful, that you had been trained in a hard school 
 to business methods and a knowledge of the value 
 
 [28] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of money; and I felt a sudden instinct that I might 
 trust you, not only with my fortune but with some- 
 thing else besides. 
 
 "And this is Bernard. In return for what I am 
 giving you — large wealth and the power and ease it 
 brings, — I ask that you will make every possible effort 
 to draw him from the errors into which he has fallen. 
 It seems to me that you are peculiarly fitted to do 
 this. You are a young and, I have reason to believe, 
 attractive woman; you have proved that you possess 
 unusual qualities of character, and more than ordinary 
 good sense. These things will be likely to appeal to 
 him strongly — for he is not himself an ordinary 
 person, — and will give you an influence which I beg 
 you will use in the way I have indicated. If he falls 
 in love with you, my earnest desire is that you will 
 marry him, but not until you have induced him to 
 renounce Romanism. Make every use of your influ- 
 ence, if you acquire any, to this end. 
 
 "There is nothing on earth so near to my heart 
 as that the boy to whom I have always been, and 
 am still, so much attached should be reclaimed from 
 the infatuation which has taken possession of him, 
 and that he shall by some means have the benefit 
 of the fortune I have accumulated. But there is no 
 way in which this can be accomplished except through 
 you. I am, therefore, placing a great trust in your 
 hands. And I can give you no reason for doing what 
 I desire except that I shall be dead when the power 
 to fulfil my wishes comes to you, and that I believe 
 my instinct has not deceived me in thinking that 
 you are one of those to whom the wishes of the dead 
 are sacred. 
 
 [29] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Hoping that you may live long to enjoy the wealth 
 I am leaving to you, and that it may be made possible 
 for Bernard to share it with you — in which case you 
 can show him this letter, which is else to remain a 
 secret between us, — I am 
 
 "Your cousin, 
 
 "Alexander Chisholm." 
 
 When she had read the last words of the letter,. 
 Honora dropped the open sheet on the desk before her, 
 and sat gazing at it as if magnetized. And as she gazed, 
 a singular sense of illumination came to her. She seemed 
 to be looking into the mind of the writer, and by a clear 
 intuition to divine the mental processes which had 
 resulted in this strange addendum to an amazing will. 
 For what was it but a bequest, not of tangible money, 
 but of the soul of a man? And what was the great fortune 
 which had been left to her but a means to be used 
 to bring about a spiritual change in that soul? She 
 saw it all plainly — far more plainly than it was written 
 on the page before her, — and, in so seeing, justified 
 the belief of the old man who was dead that she would 
 understand his motives. 
 
 She did understand them perfectly. There was 
 indeed no room to doubt the motives which had led 
 him to select her as his heir. He had chosen her, not 
 from any kind feeling for herself (though it was true 
 that he had carried in his memory a favorable im- 
 pression of her), nor from any sj-mpathy with her 
 hard struggle against adversity; but because he hoped 
 that, by the attractions of her youth and her sex, she 
 might be able to exert an influence, which he himself 
 had been unable to exert, over the young man who 
 
 [30] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 was his "natural heir," toward whom his heart 
 yearned, yet whom he had sternly cut off from his 
 inheritance. She was to work upon Bernard Chisholm, 
 not through his mind (argument having clearly proved 
 as powerless as threats to move him), but through 
 his emotions, or his passions; she was to employ 
 every feminine art to lead him to "fall in love with 
 her," but she was not to marry him unless he would 
 first renounce the detested religion he had embraced. 
 
 Yes, it was all extremely plain — and infinitely 
 pathetic. The struggling affection, the clutching at a 
 desperate expedient to achieve the end so obstinately 
 desired, the appeal for help from one so soon to be 
 himself utterly helpless, filled the girl with a sense 
 of pity as keen as her comprehension was clear. For 
 the old man had read her very accurately when he 
 discerned in her, even as a child, an unusual capability 
 of sympathy, as well as something which assured 
 him that she woul dhold as sacred wishes on which 
 the seal of death had been laid; and when he felt 
 that he could count securely on the high sense of honor 
 and the intense conscientiousness which would make 
 her recognize that she could not take and enjoy the 
 inheritance of wealth bequeathed to her if she did not 
 accept the other bequest which accompanied it, and 
 do her utmost to fulfil the demand made upon her. 
 
 But how could she possibly fulfil this demand? 
 She asked herself the question with a feeling of dismay; 
 knowing perfectly that she had no faith to offer 
 Bernard Chisholm in exchange for that which had been 
 found so objectionable, if he could indeed be induced 
 to lay it down at her request. And then, pathetic 
 as the letter seemed, she suddenly saw it in another 
 
 [3i] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 light — that of a tremendous bribe and temptation. 
 She was given wealth and ease as the price of taking 
 away from a man the faith he had made such costly 
 sacrifices to hold. How could she make even an 
 attempt to do such a thing? Yet, if she did not make 
 the attempt, how could she, in honor, accept and 
 hold the fortune given her? 
 
 As she asked the last question, a vision of Cecily 
 rose before her, — not only of Cecily as she saw her 
 last: radiant, smiling, filled with delight at the prospect 
 of the fairy-tale prosperity awaiting her; but of a 
 Cecily with whom she was more familiar, — an unhappy, 
 discontented girl, rebelling against the narrow limits 
 of poverty, longing passionately for the pleasures and 
 glitter of life, and possessed of a beauty that, allied 
 with such a temperament, was neither more nor less 
 than a great danger. For, through the ready admi- 
 ration of men, it would open to her many doors of 
 enjoyment, — doors through which it was easy to walk 
 to destruction. 
 
 How often had the elder sister's heart grown cold 
 as she realized this when exerting all her influence 
 and waning authority to restrain the girl from some 
 opportunity of dangerous pleasure! And it was con- 
 stantly growing less possible to restrain her. "I am 
 perfectly well able to take care of myself," Cecily 
 would declare, "and I will have some enjoyment and 
 taste of life while I am young." That was the refrain, — 
 she must taste life and the delight of pleasure while 
 she was young, no matter what the risk involved 
 might be. And so the sense of fear had steadily grown 
 with Honora. What words, then, could express the 
 ineffable relief this inheritance brought her! And not 
 
 [32] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 alone relief from haunting fear, but the power to give 
 Cecily all that she longed for — happiness, change, 
 excitement, everything dear to the eager heart of 
 youth. But the condition on which she held this 
 power was now distinctly placed before her; and if 
 she hesitated, or failed to observe that condition, had 
 she a right to keep what was given for an explicit end? 
 
 The answer was to her mind quite clear: she had 
 no such right. If she kept the fortune which meant 
 so much to her, which was the key to all the possi- 
 bilities of life for Cecily, she must fulfil the wishes 
 of the old man who gave it — she must try, as far as 
 in her lay, to lead Bernard Chisholm back from what 
 his uncle called "the idolatries of Rome." It was 
 true that she had no sympathy with the spirit of 
 bigotry which this implied; and it was also true that 
 she knew herself to be very ill equipped with argu- 
 ments for that end. But what was evidently required 
 of her was not argument so much as personal influence; 
 and such influence, if acquired, she was in honor bound 
 to make an effort, at least, to exert against the powerful 
 attractions of the Catholic Church. 
 
 And this notwithstanding the fact that she had 
 herself felt in some degree the force of those attractions. 
 But, she reminded herself, what she had felt was no 
 drawing toward dogmatic teaching (of which she was 
 profoundly ignorant), but only an emotional appeal. 
 And her consciousness of this appeal had come about 
 purely by accident, or, as she would have said, by 
 chance. Again and again, as she journeyed up and 
 down the elevated railway which carried her in the 
 morning to her work in the business maelstrom of 
 lower New York, and brought her back in the evening 
 
 [ 33 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to the apartment on the upper West Side which could 
 by no stretch of imagination be called a home, she 
 had gazed, first with curiosity and then with a growing 
 sense of fascination, at a massive, cross-crowned church 
 by which she was whirled. "It looks like a fortress," 
 she thought, when she saw it first; presently she 
 added: "It looks like a fortress which might enshrine 
 peace." And after a while she stopped one day to 
 satisfy curiosity by exploring it, and found that it 
 was indeed a stronghold and very fortress of peace. 
 
 Thereafter she came often — dropping off at Fifty- 
 Ninth Street on her homeward way, to spend a few 
 minutes in the quiet church, where she experienced 
 not only rest, but a strange healing, and an infusion 
 of fresh courage for her wearied spirit. She had never 
 tried (and, in fact, would not have been able) to 
 analyze the attraction which drew her to sit for half 
 an hour in a twilit building, where nothing was going 
 on, only distant lamplight gleaming on a closed door, 
 a silence that could be felt, and an indescribable con- 
 sciousness of something like a living presence which 
 pervaded the hushed stillness and gave it a meaning. 
 Why she should have felt so certain of this presence 
 she did not know; she had never read a Catholic 
 book nor heard a word of Catholic preaching, and 
 her ideas with regard to the Church were as vague as 
 those of most Protestants. There was no glamour of 
 imposing services, of color and lights and music, which 
 had drawn her across the threshold of the Church of 
 St. Paul the Apostle, — only, as has been said, that she 
 found there a place wherein to seek a rest and refresh- 
 ment of soul which she had never discovered any- 
 where else. 
 
 [34] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 And now she suddenly realized that she must not 
 go there again. Of her also, as of Bernard Chisholm, 
 sacrifice was demanded if she would inherit the 
 Chisholm fortune. She must not dally with the fasci- 
 nations of Rome, even though in her case those fasci- 
 nations only took the form of the quiet restfulness of 
 an ever-open church. But under that restfulness was 
 there perhaps a snare, a power which might hypnotize 
 the soul and never let it go again? The thought of 
 hypnosis occurred to her as she remembered how 
 only a few hours earlier, as she was leaving the church, 
 she had been led by some subtle influence to bend 
 her knee — to what? She told herself that she certainly 
 did not believe that there was anything behind the 
 tabernacle doors which demanded such an act of 
 reverence. Yet she had felt compelled to that genu- 
 flection, because it seemed a rude and unmannerly 
 thing to withhold it, as if one were to go to the court 
 of a king and refuse the homage which courtesy 
 required. 
 
 Of course this feeling had only been a matter of 
 suggestion: she was saturated with what might be 
 called the spirit of the place, and she had also just 
 seen a woman make such a genuflection. But if this 
 had occurred once, it might occur again; and — it 
 might go further. She had been strangely stirred and 
 thrilled when she heard of the sacrifice of the young 
 man who had preferred to follow his conscience rather 
 than to inherit a fortune; and surely this instinctive 
 sympathy proved that she, too, had felt, though un- 
 consciously, the dangerous attraction of the religion 
 which had led him so far from his natural path of 
 life. 
 
 [35] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Well, the task set for her was to bring him back 
 again to that path; and, whether she succeeded or 
 failed, the effort must be made. So, in order that it 
 might be made in good faith, she must not again cross 
 the threshold of the church of the Apostle who by 
 some strange, compelling power (was it in any degree 
 like that which forced her to bend her knee?) had been 
 cast upon his face on the road to Damascus — nor the 
 threshold of any other church where the spell of Rome 
 might be felt. This settled, — and she was aware of a 
 sense of something lost in settling it — she need give 
 no further thought for the present to the strange secret 
 bequest which had been left her, in connection with 
 a great inheritance. When she went to enter into 
 possession of this inheritance, would be time enough 
 to consider how best to fulfil the condition on which 
 it was clearly intended that she should hold it. Now 
 she might put the matter away, and give herself up 
 to the wonderful delight of freedom from harassing 
 care and distasteful labor, and the greater delight of 
 being able to gratify all of Cecily's desires. 
 
 [36] 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THOSE last days in New York, spent in prepa- 
 rations for departure, and a wild orgy of 
 shopping, in which Cecily commanded and 
 directed fabulous expenditures, always remained dream- 
 like in Honora's memory. At the time she had a sense 
 of utter unreality, which even the touch of reality 
 in drawing checks for large sums of money, which were 
 duly honored, was not sufficient to dissipate. And 
 this feeling of living, moving, and having her being 
 in a dream was intensified when she found herself 
 at last alighting from a train in Kingsford. 
 
 For it was a Kingsford as changed as her own 
 circumstances. The quiet old Colonial town she re- 
 membered, with its reserved and aristocratic air, 
 where life flowed in such placid current in old-fashioned 
 houses, under great embowering trees, had vanished, 
 and in its stead a modern "Progressive" city blazoned 
 on every side its determination not to be behind any 
 other place in worship of mammon. Hardly a land- 
 mark of the past remained, so eager was new Kingsford 
 to dissociate itself from anything old; and, if Mr. 
 Maxwell had not met her on her arrival, Honora might 
 have doubted if she were indeed in the once familiar 
 home of her childhood. 
 
 But Mr. Maxwell was there with a well-appointed 
 
 carriage. 
 
 [37 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "You'll probably soon be getting an automobile, 
 like everybody else," he said. "But Mr. Chisholm 
 clung to his horses; and, since they are yours now, 
 I've brought them for you." 
 
 Honora, still engaged in trying to realize that she 
 was not dreaming, was driven through unfamiliar 
 streets, by blocks of business buildings which she was 
 informed were hers, and presently across a bridge 
 which spanned the river that flowed through the town, 
 where distant factories were indicated with the same 
 information. She remembered that on the hills just 
 beyond the town in this direction the "best people" 
 had always had their homes; so she was not surprised 
 when they began to mount the green, wooded heights 
 above the stream. But when, after passing several 
 more or less ornate dwellings, which spoke eloquently 
 of a tide of new prosperity, they came by a winding 
 road to an imposing residence of stately Palladian 
 architecture, set on a commanding eminence, at sight 
 of which Mr. Maxwell announced, "That is the 
 Chisholm house!" she was altogether unprepared, and 
 for a moment almost incredulous. 
 
 "But this isn't — " she gasped. 
 
 'The old residence? Oh, no!" Mr. Maxwell inter- 
 posed. "Mr. Chisholm built this on the site of the 
 old house several years ago." 
 
 "But it is charming!" Cecily cried in a high key of 
 approval. 'Who would ever have given Mr. Chisholm 
 credit for so much taste!" 
 
 'Why shouldn't he have had taste?" Honora 
 asked, her wide gaze fastened on the house they were 
 approaching, with its note of classic dignity and 
 spaciousness, its white columns gleaming against a 
 
 [38] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 sky as blue as that of the Greece or Italy from which 
 its style was derived. 
 
 "Well, there's really no reason why he shouldn't," 
 Cecily admitted, "except that one thinks of him as 
 having been one of the men who exist only to gather 
 together dollars, and who have no capability of enjoying 
 them. But the man who built this house had such 
 a capability, for he spent dollars enough to make 
 himself a perfectly delightful place to live. Can it 
 be as charming within as without, do you think?" 
 
 "Come and see," Mr. Maxwell told her laughingly, 
 as the carriage drew up before a stately, balustraded 
 terrace, which made an admirable setting for the 
 pillared facade of the house rising above it. 
 
 They were met at the door by a severe-looking, 
 middle-aged woman, whom Mr. Maxwell introduced 
 as Mrs. Kemp, who had been Mr. Chisholm's house- 
 keeper, and "kindly remained in charge of things 
 until the new owner came." 
 
 The new owner encountered the keen scrutiny of 
 a pair of hard black eyes rather deprecatingly. 
 
 'You can't be more surprised to see me here than 
 I am to be here, Mrs. Kemp," she said gently; "but 
 I hope we shall get on well together." 
 
 "Oh, as for that," Mrs. Kemp replied stiffly, "I've 
 only stayed to look after things, as Mr. Maxwell says, 
 until they are handed over to you. Would you like 
 to go over the house now, or wait until you've had 
 something to eat?" 
 
 "We'll go over it now," Cecily announced eagerly. 
 "We've just lunched .on the train, and I'm dying 
 to see if the rest of the house is worthy of this fine 
 hall." 
 
 [39] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Mrs. Kemp regarded the speaker for a moment 
 with a comprehensive gaze; and then, addressing 
 Honora pointedly, as she opened a door on one side, 
 "Here's the drawing room," she said. 
 
 It was a spacious, beautifully decorated room, 
 furnished with a taste at once so delicate and so 
 restrained that Cecily, who prided herself on her 
 artistic knowledge, exclaimed again with surprise and 
 delight. And these sentiments were expressed in an 
 ascending scale of approval until astonishment cul- 
 minated when, after passing through various apart- 
 ments — notably a rich, dark library lined with books, — 
 they were introduced into a splendidly proportioned 
 music room, containing a grand piano, and a large 
 organ built into its end. 
 
 'Why, this is amazing!" Cecily cried, turning to 
 Mr. Maxwell. "Was Mr. Chisholm very fond of music? " 
 
 Mr. Maxwell shook his head. 
 
 "I don't think he knew or cared anything about 
 it," he replied. 
 
 "And he had no family and no social tastes! Why, 
 then, did he spend money in fitting up such a room 
 as this — unless it was purely ostentation?" 
 
 'There wasn't a grain of ostentation in him," Mr. 
 Maxwell stated emphatically. "He had this room 
 included in the plan of the house to please Bernard 
 Chisholm, who is very fond of music. Of course when 
 he built the house, he expected that it would eventually 
 he his — Bernard's, I mean." 
 
 "Oh, I see!" Cecily was silent for an instant, 
 staring with bright, meditative eyes at the gleaming 
 pipes of the organ. "He cared enough for him to do 
 all this for him, and then he cut him off from the 
 
 [40] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 music room and everything else because he dared to 
 call his soul his own! What a horridly tyrannical 
 old man Mr. Chisholm must have been!" 
 
 "He was rather tyrannical," Mr. Maxwell admitted; 
 "but his conscience had some part in the matter, 
 too. He wanted to save Bernard from what he- 
 considered a dreadful religion, and he believed the 
 Romanists got hold of him on account of his prospect 
 of inheriting a large fortune. So he was determined 
 to disappoint them." 
 
 "How broad-minded and tolerant of him!" Cecily 
 commented sarcastically. "Honora, do you hear? This 
 beautiful room was built specially for the disinherited 
 knight, who is now driven out of it." 
 
 "I hear," said Honora, who indeed must have been 
 deaf if she had not heard. "I'm very sorry. I wish 
 Mr. Chisholm had left it to him, as he intended." 
 
 "I'm not unselfish enough to wish that," Cecily 
 owned frankly. "But I'm sorry, too, for the foolish 
 young man — " 
 
 "Begging your pardon, Miss!" (It was an inter- 
 ruption so sharp that it made Cecily jump), "there's 
 no call for anybody to be sorry for Mr. Bernard." 
 
 "O Mrs. Kemp!" The young lady turned toward 
 the speaker, who met her gaze with a look of distinct 
 hostility in her snapping black eyes. "How interesting 
 that you think there's no need to be sorry for him! 
 Is it because you approve of what he's done?" 
 
 "I don't approve of it at all," Mrs. Kemp replied 
 uncompromisingly. "I'd be the last to deny that 
 he acted very foolish when he threw away all his 
 prospects, and almost broke his uncle's heart — though 
 nobody would 'ave guessed it who didn't know Mr. 
 
 [41] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Chisholm as well as I knew him, — but all the same, 
 there's no need to be sorry for Mr. Bernard; for there's 
 no sorrow in him for what he's lost." 
 
 "Then he's the most extraordinary as well as the 
 most foolish young man of whom I've ever heard," 
 Cecily declared. "I hope he'll come to see us," she 
 added, turning back to Mr. Maxwell. "If there's 
 no sorrow in him for what he has lost, I suppose he 
 doesn't bear malice against Honora for inheriting it." 
 
 "Quite the contrary," Mr. Maxwell answered. 
 "He's very much interested in her; and I think you'll 
 see him very soon." 
 
 "The sooner, the better for the gratification of my 
 curiosity. And, by the by, since he has forfeited his 
 inheritance, what does he do for a support?" 
 
 "Oh, as for that, he has some means of his own! 
 He inherited a small fortune from his father, and he 
 has occupied a very responsible position in his uncle's 
 business (Mr. Chisholm left the management of things 
 more and more to him of late), which he still holds 
 until — er — other arrangements can be made." 
 
 Honora looked at the speaker quickly. 
 
 "Is there any reason why other arrangements should 
 be made?" she asked. 
 
 "That is a matter for discussion," he replied 
 reservedly. "We'll talk of it, and other matters of 
 business, as soon as suits your convenience." 
 
 "I haven't been accustomed to consulting my 
 convenience where matters of business were concerned," 
 she said, smiling a little. "I am at your service when- 
 ever you wish to discuss them." 
 
 "In that case, I'll come to-morrow," he told her 
 promptly. "Shall we say at eleven in the forenoon? 
 
 [42] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Very well. Then I'll bid you good-bye for the present, 
 and leave Mrs. Kemp to show you all details of the 
 place." 
 
 'Tell Mr. Bernard Chisholm to come to see us," 
 Cecily said, as he shook hands with her. 
 
 "I'm certain he'll be very glad to come," the lawyer 
 assured her — "especially after he has seen you." 
 
 "That's an Irish bull as well as a compliment," 
 she laughed. 
 
 "It's a solid fact either way," he returned. 
 
 Several hours afterward the beautiful spring day 
 was drawing toward late afternoon when the two 
 sisters — having rested, as far as excitement would let 
 them, after their inspection of the house — came out 
 on the terrace which commanded an enchanting view 
 in all directions. Immediately in front, embowered 
 in leafy verdure, Kingsford lay, outspread beyond the 
 river that flowed through the valley below. On either 
 side, the ridge on which the house stood stretched 
 above the stream in tree-crowned beauty; while west- 
 ward the hills rolled away in green waves toward a 
 distant cloud-like line of azure mountains. A thousand 
 delicious odors came borne from field and forest on 
 the wings of the caressing air; and it was hardly 
 wonderful that, struck by a sense of poignant contrast 
 with the crowded city streets, the narrow apartment, 
 the days of unceasing toil which lay so close behind 
 her, Honora should have opened her arms, as if she 
 longed to embrace the entrancing picture. 
 
 "How heavenly!" she breathed. "I've never 
 dreamed of having, this side of heaven, such a home 
 for my very own." 
 
 [43] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "It is heavenly!" Cecily assented. "And I'm 
 almost glad that we've been so poor. We couldn't 
 enjoy so keenly all that we have now if we didn't 
 know the contrast." 
 
 "I always said you were an epicurean" (Honora 
 smiled at her), "and that is the sentiment of an epi- 
 curean: you are glad to have suffered, in order to 
 heighten by contrast the sense of pleasure." 
 
 "I don't mind in the least being called an epi- 
 curean," Cecily replied. "For what I've said holds 
 good: we couldn't possibly enjoy all this" (she waved 
 her hand comprehensively around) "if we had possessed 
 it always. The keen edge of enjoyment must be put 
 on by contrast." 
 
 "Then — it's a rather startling idea — we should 
 lose the keenest form of happiness in the world, if there 
 were no suffering." 
 
 "I — suppose so." Cecily looked rather startled at 
 her own conclusion. "It's an idea that carries one 
 pretty far, doesn't it?" 
 
 "Especially one who has railed at suffering as 
 I've heard you so often do." 
 
 "I would rail at it again. I hate, abhor and detest 
 it. I would abolish it if I could. And yet I see now 
 that the world would lose something if it were abolished. 
 We should have no contrast to heighten enjoyment. 
 More important, we should have nothing 
 'To try the soul's strength on.'" 
 
 "Oh!" (Cecily shrugged), "I care nothing about 
 means to try the soul's strength! I care only for en- 
 joyment, pleasure, happiness. I could dance and sing 
 with delight in the sense of freedom from care and 
 poverty, in the consciousness of being able to spread 
 
 [44] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 my wings as far and as wide as I like. You see" (she 
 looked at her sister with brilliant, laughing eyes), 
 "I'm taking for granted that the fortune you've come 
 into is mine as much as it's yours." 
 
 "You know that it is," Honora told her. 
 
 "Yes, I know; and therefore, although I've talked 
 of feeling sorry for that foolish young man, Bernard 
 Chisholm, I'm really tremendously glad that he acted 
 as he did. Honestly now, aren't you?" 
 
 "I — don't know," Honora confessed. "My feelings 
 are so mixed that it's hard to analyze them. I am 
 dreadfully sorry for all he has lost — though perhaps 
 one shouldn't be sorry for a person who has been able 
 to do so heroic a thing, — but I can't be sorry for having 
 the fortune, with all the ease it brings, and the wonder- 
 ful possibilities it opens." 
 
 "You would be a fool indeed if you were sorry," 
 Cecily said frankly. "But I'm wondering if it won't 
 be awfully hard to him to see some one else — you, 
 in short — as owner in the house that was built for 
 himself?" 
 
 "So hard, I'm afraid, that I wish I might meet him 
 anywhere else. I shall feel myself an alien and intruder 
 in his own home." 
 
 "That's utter nonsense, as I've pointed out to you 
 several times already. You know that you are neither 
 the one nor the other. But it must be a trying position 
 for him, and I'm curious to see how he will bear himself. 
 If he takes a martyr pose, I shall despise him." 
 
 "I don't think it likely that he will take such a 
 pose if one may judge from what Mr. Maxwell and 
 Mrs. Kemp have said of him." 
 
 "O Mrs. Kemp! Weren't you amused when she 
 
 [45] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 so suddenly spoke up for him in the music room? She 
 was evidently quite fierce at the idea of his being 
 regarded as an object of pity." 
 
 "Whatever else he may be, he isn't an object of 
 pity. I'm quite certain of that," said Honora. 
 
 And as she said it, a young man mounted the 
 terrace steps and stood before them. 
 
 46] 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THERE were in reality two young men, but one 
 of them lingered so far behind the other that 
 neither of the two girls observed him for several 
 minutes. Their attention was fixed on the figure which, 
 after an instant's pause, advanced toward them — a 
 lithe, slender figure, with a face so attractive, even 
 at first glance, that, in words uttered long ago by a 
 shrewd judge of men, it was "a letter of recommen- 
 dation." We have all seen faces now and then which 
 make this instantaneous impression of a delightful 
 personality. It is not always possible to define the 
 charm of such a countenance, — a charm which may 
 be felt even in the passing encounter of strangers in a 
 crowd, for it resides chiefly in expression; but the 
 expression which would redeem a plain face can render 
 a handsome one irresistible. And the face of this 
 young man was extremely handsome, with features 
 which showed in their clear-cut lines the impress of 
 a vivid spirit, keenly alive to all fine issues; with 
 smiling lips above a firmly-moulded chin, and hazel 
 eyes full of light, under dark, level brows. Easy and 
 graceful of bearing, he came forward, and spoke in a 
 voice as pleasant as his aspect. 
 
 "May I introduce myself?" he asked. "I am 
 Bernard Chisholm, and I suppose I have the pleasure 
 of seeing Miss Trezevant and — " 
 
 [47] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "My sister, Cecily." Honora indicated by a 
 gesture the bearer of that name, and then held out 
 her hand with eager cordiality. "I'm very glad to 
 know you," she said. "It's extremely kind of you to 
 come to see us so soon." 
 
 "I am delighted to be allowed to come," the young 
 man replied. "I should hardly have ventured to come 
 so soon, if I hadn't met our friend, Mr. Maxwell, who 
 encouraged me to do so. And I was glad to be 
 encouraged, since I was anxious to welcome you, and 
 offer my most sincere congratulations on your return 
 to your old home." 
 
 "You are very kind," Honora murmured again, 
 conscious of a sudden feeling that Mr. Maxwell had 
 been right when he spoke of the "fine spirit" with 
 which Bernard Chisholm was taking his great loss; 
 for surely nothing could have less expressed any sense 
 of loss than his tone and manner, or the friendliness 
 which looked from his handsome eyes. But, hardly 
 knowing what else to say, while she hesitated, she 
 became aware of the approach of another young man, 
 who as he drew near remarked: 
 
 "Since you've introduced yourself, Bernard, suppose 
 you now introduce me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Bernard turned. "For the moment I 
 had forgotten you. This" (he addressed Honora) "is 
 my cousin, Julian Page, who was so anxious to make 
 your acquaintance that he insisted on coming with 
 me." 
 
 "That's not a very nice way to put it," Mr. Page 
 complained; "but I can't deny that it's true. I did 
 insist on coming, and I felicitate myself on having 
 done so." He looked at Cecily as he spoke. "But I 
 
 [48 1 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 don't think," he added injuredly to Bernard, "that 
 you should have claimed me so exclusively as your 
 cousin. I beg to remark that I'm the cousin of these 
 ladies also." 
 
 "We are all cousins, aren't we?" Honora asked, 
 smiling, as she shook hands with him. "I haven't 
 been out of the South so long as to have forgotten how 
 extensive the family connection is." 
 
 "But I don't know anything about it," Cecily said. 
 "So won't somebody please enlighten me as to the 
 degree in which we are related?" 
 
 "A pretty far degree, I'm afraid," Bernard Chisholm 
 told her. "But a slight relationship goes a long way 
 with us, you know. I believe our great-grandfathers 
 were brothers — or perhaps brothers and sisters." 
 
 "A great-grandfather who was also a sister would 
 be a very remarkable kind of an ancestor," Mr. Page 
 observed. "But never mind! The relationship is the 
 point; and there's no doubt about that, whether it's 
 on the male or the distaff side, as they say in the old 
 countries. I think that's such a picturesque manner 
 of expressing female descent; but I don't suppose 
 modern women care to be reminded of the time when 
 the distaff was the symbol of their sex." 
 
 "I don't see why not," Cecily said. "Distaffs 
 are picturesque implements, and industry is not to 
 be despised." 
 
 "Judging by some present utterances, they wot^ld 
 prefer to have been brandishing battle-axes," the young 
 man laughed. 
 
 He also was decidedly attractive, though lacking 
 the peculiar charm and fine distinction which charac- 
 terized Bernard Chisholm. His rather irregular face 
 
 [49] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 expressed humor and intelligence in equal degree, and 
 his gray eyes had the keenness that often accompanies 
 the artist vision. There was something of the artist 
 in the way he was staring at Cecily now, and certainly 
 Cecily was very well worth staring at. Her beauty, 
 always sufficiently striking, was accentuated by excite- 
 ment — which acted like wine upon her temperament, — 
 and enhanced by a toilette of latest fashion. Both 
 sisters were wearing black; for Cecily had seen at 
 once that Honora was right in suggesting that they 
 owed this respect to the old man who had so richly 
 endowed one, and thereby benefited both of them. 
 But there is black and black, as all women are aware; 
 and Cecily's charming gown had, except in its hue, 
 no hint of mourning, while Honora' s dress distinctly 
 expressed it. 
 
 Bernard Chisholm's glance noted this, at the same 
 time that she noted the black band he wore on his 
 arm; and she said to herself again that it surely showed 
 a fine spirit, to wear so conspicuously a badge of 
 mourning for the uncle who had disinherited him. 
 Meanwhile they had all turned toward a spot where 
 some chairs were placed under an awning; and Ber- 
 nard, walking across the terrace by Honora's side, said: 
 
 "I hope you like this house. I had a good deal to 
 do with choosing its details, and I shall be glad if they 
 please you." 
 
 "How could they fail to please me?" she asked. 
 "The house, and everything about it, seems to me 
 quite perfect. I was saying not long before you came 
 that it's such a home as I never expected to possess 
 this side of heaven, and it is like a dream to me still 
 that I do possess it." 
 
 [50] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I'm delighted that it isn't a dream," he said. 
 "My uncle didn't tell me his intentions further than 
 they concerned myself; and I was afraid to hear what 
 disposition he had made of this place, as well as of his 
 fortune. When I did hear, I was tremendously pleased; 
 and, if you won't mind my saying so at this early 
 stage of our acquaintance, I am more than ever pleased 
 since I have seen you." 
 
 "I don't mind your saying anything," Honora 
 replied. "But you make me feel as if you were pouring 
 coals of fire on my head; and coals of fire aren't very 
 comfortable, you know, however kind and generous 
 the intention of the pourer may be." 
 
 "But why on earth should you feel that way?" 
 he inquired, with evident astonishment. "Coals of 
 fire are supposed to be poured by somebody whom 
 one has injured, and you have certainly not injured 
 me." 
 
 "Not intentionally—" 
 
 "Not at all!" he interrupted. "Do put such an idea 
 out of your head. I can hardly tell you how little 
 foundation there is for it. I am not injured, — not in 
 the very least. I had a clear choice offered me, and 
 I consider myself immensely the gainer by what I 
 chose. Meanwhile you are the gainer by what I have 
 lost; so it seems to me that congratulations are in 
 order all around." 
 
 "I think," Honora said — and paused to stare at 
 him — "that you are the most extraordinary person I 
 have ever seen or heard of. I can't believe that you 
 are just talking for effect — " 
 
 " I assure you that I'm not," he interposed. "Talking 
 for effect is not one of my vices." 
 
 [51 I 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Then you really mean that you are to be con- 
 gratulated on the loss of the inheritance you have 
 been brought up to consider your own?" 
 
 "I really mean it," he answered. "But perhaps I 
 shouldn't have expressed myself in exactly that manner; 
 for of course you can't be expected to understand what 
 it is that I have gained. So you'll just let me say that I 
 consider it a positive inspiration on the part of my 
 uncle to have looked over the whole family connection 
 for an heir and to have pitched upon yourself. I didn't 
 know that he had any vein of romance in him; but 
 I think now that he must have had, — at least he has 
 done a delightfully romantic thing in leaving his fortune 
 to you. Why, when I came up on the terrace a few 
 minutes ago and saw you, with the house behind you, 
 I thought I had never seen anything so positively 
 ideal as the combination." 
 
 His eyes were laughing as they looked at her, but 
 laughing in such kindly and evidently admiring fashion 
 that she could not but smile in sympathy, even while 
 it occurred to her to wonder what he would think if he 
 knew the real reason which had led Mr. Chisholm to 
 select her as his heir. 
 
 "I'm glad you thought the combination ideal," she 
 said. "But, since we are talking so frankly, you must 
 let me say that I don't find it at all ideal that the 
 rightful heir should be dispossessed. In fact, I've felt 
 so unhappy over it that it has almost spoiled my 
 pleasure in the marvellous fortune which has come 
 to me." 
 
 'That was tremendously good of you," he said 
 earnestly; "but you mustn't feel so any more. For 
 I'm really not 'the rightful heir.' My uncle had 
 
 [52] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 a perfect right to leave his fortune as he liked." 
 
 "Oh, a legal right no doubt, but not a moral right!" 
 
 "Yes, every right. Please believe this, and put 
 the idea of any injury to me out of your mind. Do you 
 know," he added, "that the chief reason why I've 
 been so prompt in seeing you has been that I might 
 give you this assurance? Most people wouldn't need 
 it; but there must have been some telepathic com- 
 munication between us, for I've been afraid that you 
 might feel something of the kind." 
 
 "Why should you have been afraid?" she asked. 
 
 Again she felt the kindness of his eyes like 
 sunshine. 
 
 "Because it would detract in some degree from 
 your enjoyment of the good fortune that has come 
 to you," he answered. "And it seems a pity that that 
 should be detracted from at all. You can never have 
 such another moment, you know — never again step 
 out of poverty into wealth in the flower of your youth, — 
 and you ought to enjoy it to the full." 
 
 She did not tell him again that he was an extraor- 
 dinary person, but the thought was strongly present 
 in her mind, for surely it was extraordinary that he 
 should look at the situation so sympathetically as it 
 regarded her: that he should realize so clearly that 
 indeed there could never be such another moment in 
 her life, and desire that she should enjoy it to the 
 full. 
 
 'You don't know how deeply I appreciate the 
 generosity of your attitude," she said in a low, eager 
 tone. "There are so few people who would feel as 
 you do about yourself, or who would understand how 
 I feel with regard to that matter or — with regard to 
 
 [53] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 other things. For you are right in thinking that this 
 is a wonderful change to me, — so wonderful that I 
 can hardly realize it yet." 
 
 "I know that it must seem like a fairy tale," he 
 said, smiling. "But fairy tales come true sometimes, 
 you see. And, whether it was from inspiration or 
 knowledge, my uncle has done not only a romantic 
 but, I believe, a. wise thing in leaving his fortune to 
 you. Do you know that Mr. Maxwell, who went to 
 New York in a spirit of darkest pessimism, returned 
 enthusiastic over the poise and admirable calmness 
 you displayed under what must have been a tremendous 
 shock?" 
 
 "I'm glad that he thought I displayed those 
 qualities," she said. "But one is sometimes calm 
 because one is stunned." 
 
 "Don't do yourself injustice, Nora," said Cecily, 
 who in the interval of her conversation with Julian 
 Page had caught the last remark. "It is not necessary 
 for you to be stunned in order to be calm. You are 
 really never anything else, and it's frequently quite 
 exasperating." 
 
 "Bon sang ne petit mentir," observed Mr. Page, 
 complacently. "Our common great-great-grandfather 
 was no doubt a person of fine poise. See the result! 
 One descendant loses and another gains a fortune 
 with equal high-bred composure. Here's Bernard, 
 who positively hasn't turned a hair under the process 
 of disinheritance." 
 
 "Don't be an idiot!" Bernard told him, and then 
 he looked at Cecily, whose eyes were dwelling on 
 himself with unmistakable interest. "I hope you like 
 this place as much as your sister does," he said. 
 
 [54] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I find it absolutely charming, both inside and 
 out," she replied. "I was immensely surprised at 
 first, not having given Mr. Chisholm credit for so 
 much good taste as everything implies; although, as 
 Honora remarked, there was no reason why he shouldn't 
 have had taste — " 
 
 "Only he didn't," the irrepressible Mr. Page broke 
 in again. "It was something he had never thought 
 it worth while to cultivate; and he was a wise old 
 gentleman, who knew his limitations. So when he 
 decided to build this house, he left all the details to 
 Bernard — whom he intended to have it, you know, — 
 and Bernard was sensible enough to consult me." 
 
 "Oh," Cecily laughed, "he consulted you! And 
 why, please?" 
 
 "He happens to be an artist," Bernard explained, 
 "and I found many of his suggestions very useful 
 indeed." 
 
 "An artist!" Cecily turned toward the other eagerly. 
 "Why, how delightful! I'm an artist, too — at least 
 that's what I've wanted to be, and all my friends in 
 New York were of the artist-colony; so I know a great 
 deal about art, if I don't succeed in doing very much. 
 But how on earth do you come to be in Kingsford?" 
 
 "Your tone," Mr. Page remarked, "suggests an 
 unfavorable opinion of Kingsford, which I regret to 
 hear. It is a place which offers a fine field for the 
 cultivation of an art spirit in the inhabitants; and, 
 incidentally, my family live here." 
 
 "Nevertheless, an artist must feel dreadfully out 
 of place in a provincial town." 
 
 "Oh, hush, hush!" he remonstrated in a tone of 
 acute distress. "It would cut Kingsford to the quick 
 
 [55] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 if it heard itself spoken of as a provincial town; and 
 then—" 
 
 "It might revenge itself by cutting me? That 
 would be a tragedy." 
 
 "There's not the least danger of Kingsford cutting 
 you under any provocation," the young man assured 
 her. "Society is on tiptoe with eagerness to see and 
 know you both. And you'll kindly understand that 
 it's not at all because you've inherited a great deal 
 of money — " 
 
 "I haven't inherited a penny," Cecily said. "The 
 sooner Kingsford knows that, the better." 
 
 "Do you suppose Kingsford doesn't know the 
 contents of the Chisholm will as well as you know it?" 
 he inquired. "Why, it was the sensation of the hour 
 when we heard how the estate had been left. There 
 was not one of the related clans — Chisholms, Pages, 
 Trezevants, and the rest — who hadn't some faint hope 
 of being selected as the heir after Bernard turned 
 Papist, and, figuratively speaking, cut his own throat — " 
 
 "Upon my word, Julian," Bernard interposed, 
 "I think this conversation is becoming disagreeably 
 personal." 
 
 "I'll make it a little more personal by stating that 
 there were some people who even thought / had a 
 chance," Julian proceeded calmly. "I wasn't one of 
 them, however, for I knew perfectly well that Cousin 
 Alex, as the older generation called him, would never 
 leave his stocks and bonds and factories to a fellow 
 who dabbled in paints." 
 
 "But he didn't appear to object to Mr. Chisholm's 
 liking for music," Cecily remarked, glancing at Bernard. 
 "We've seen the music room, and heard how it came 
 
 [56] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to be built," she said, addressing him with a charming 
 smile. 
 
 "He wasn't really narrow-minded at all — except 
 on one subject," the young man told her quickly. "I 
 can never forget how kind he was about that music 
 room. But I must protest," he added, "that I hardly 
 know myself as ' Mr. Chisholm ' — at least when I am 
 among relatives, and we are all relatives." 
 
 "I'm quite willing to say, Bernard," Cecily answered 
 readily; "but you set the example of formality, with 
 your 'Miss Trezevant,' you know." 
 
 "I couldn't exactly come up and call you by your 
 Christian name, when I'd never seen you before, could 
 I?" he asked, appealing to Honora. 
 
 "It would have taken a good deal for granted, I 
 think," she replied, smiling. "But now, since we are 
 cousins — " 
 
 "Don't leave me out!" Mr. Page exclaimed. "I'm 
 as much a cousin as Bernard is, and I want to be 
 allowed the rights of cousinship, too." 
 
 "They are yours," Honora told him with gentle 
 graciousness. "We have felt like strangers, Cecily and 
 I, though we were coming back to our birthplace; 
 and it is pleasant to meet two kinsmen at once." 
 
 [57] 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 AFTER matters had thus been put on their proper 
 basis, as Mr. Page expressed it, the four young 
 people soon fell into easy intercourse, — so 
 easy that Honora began to wonder more than ever 
 if she were not dreaming, and if the young man 
 talking and laughing so light-heartedly before her 
 could be indeed the dispossessed heir she had dreaded 
 to meet. Certainly she had been right in thinking 
 that there would be nothing of a martyr pose about 
 him; but she was hardly prepared for an attitude 
 that seemed to suggest an almost buoyant satisfaction 
 with things as they were. It was hard to believe that 
 this attitude was not the result of conscious effort; 
 and yet it was impossible to detect a sign of effort, 
 a single trace of regret in manner or appearance. 
 Julian Page was not more free from anything of the 
 kind. Altogether, she found herself strangely puzzled, 
 and also strangely interested, by this "disinherited 
 knight," as Cecily called him, who had assured her 
 with such an accent of sincerity that he regarded 
 himself as an object for congratulation rather than 
 condolence, in view of what he had gained rather than 
 of what he had lost, — yet who was so entirely a normal 
 young man of the present world, with no suggestion 
 of other- worldliness about him. 
 
 She was still absorbed in these considerations, and 
 
 f58] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 rather absent-mindedly bearing her part in the light flow 
 of conversation, when Cecily presently glanced at her. 
 
 "I'm wondering," she said, "if we couldn't order 
 some tea served? Mr. Page — I mean Julian — tells me 
 that afternoon tea isn't a common usage here, unless 
 people are entertaining — " 
 
 "Receptions or club-meetings, or something of that 
 kind," Julian airily explained. 
 
 "But we are accustomed to it," Cecily went on; 
 "and I think it would be a becoming rite of hospitality 
 as well as a refreshment. So if you think I might 
 venture to tell Mrs. Kemp to send us some out — " 
 
 "I'll go and see about it," Honora said, rising, — 
 conscious that she was rather glad of an excuse to 
 leave the group for a few minutes, in order to recover 
 her bearings. 
 
 But she was not prepared for the step which quickly 
 followed her, nor for finding Bernard Chisholm at 
 ber side as she entered the house. 
 
 "I hope you don't object to my coming with you," 
 he said. "It has occurred to me that perhaps I can 
 make things easier for you with Mrs. Kemp — I don't 
 mean about the tea, but matters in general; — that is, 
 if you would like to keep her in her present position. 
 I can assure you that she is an admirable housekeeper, 
 and thoroughly trustworthy." 
 
 "I should like very much to keep her," Honora 
 said. "I shall have so many things to claim my 
 attention, for a time at least, that I could hardly take 
 proper charge of the house. But she has indicated very 
 clearly that she has no intention of staying. She 
 evidently regards me as an interloper, whom it would 
 be beneath her dignity to serve." 
 
 [59] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Oh, I don't think she has any such idea as that!" 
 the young man said, answering her smile. "But 
 you must allow for the fact that a woman of her age 
 and character, who has had a very free hand in serving 
 a man, is averse to coming under the orders of another 
 woman. And, then, of course I can't deny that she is 
 a strong partisan even where partisanship isn't called 
 
 for." 
 
 "You mean that she is a strong partisan of yours, 
 and thinks you badly used. That's very plain. But 
 she might remember that I have no responsibility for 
 what she resents." 
 
 "It's asking rather too much, I'm afraid, to expect 
 people of the type of Mrs. Kemp to remember things 
 of that kind. But she really is a good, though somewhat 
 forbidding soul; and it would be better that she should 
 stay with you until you are fairly settled in your new 
 life. So, if you don't object, I will try to persuade her 
 to do so." 
 
 "Instead of objecting, I'll be extremely obliged." 
 
 "Then shall we find her? She is generally in her 
 own sitting-room near the kitchen." 
 
 "You are really very good," Honora said gratefully, 
 as they proceeded in that direction. 
 
 "Oh, I know her so well that I couldn't refrain from 
 offering my services to assist in managing her!" he 
 answered, laughing. 
 
 It was the familiar sound of his laughter that made 
 Mrs. Kemp look up with a start, to see the two young 
 figures standing together in the door of her pleasant 
 sitting-room, with its air of homely comfort and extreme 
 neatness. There was a sewing machine at the window 
 which looked out over the green spaces of the garden; 
 
 [60] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 and from this she rose, pushing her spectacles up, the 
 better to take in the astonishing sight before her. 
 
 "How do you do, Mrs. Kemp!" Bernard said 
 cordially. "Miss Trezevant has come to ask you to 
 send some tea out on the terrace; and I've come to 
 say how glad I am that she has you to help her in 
 the process of settling down to her new responsibilities. 
 
 Mrs. Kemp surveyed the speaker for a moment 
 with a glance in which were mingled affection and 
 disapproval, together with much surprise. Then— 
 
 "I don't suppose Miss Trezevant's in any need 
 of my help in settling down," she said dryly; "and I 
 haven't thought of staying, Mr. Bernard, as you must 
 know." 
 
 "But Miss Trezevant hopes that you will, and I 
 hope so too," he pleaded, with a very winning tone 
 in his voice. 
 
 "I certainly hope so," Honora hastened to add in 
 a tone hardly less winning. "You will oblige and help 
 me very much, Mrs. Kemp, if you'll stay. I know that 
 of course you don't like the change in things — " 
 
 "I'm not one," Mrs. Kemp stated, "for new people 
 and new ways." 
 
 "But new people and new ways are sometimes 
 inevitable, just as change is inevitable in human life," 
 Honora reminded her. 
 
 'There's some changes that shouldn't have took 
 place," Mrs. Kemp returned. "I can't reconcile myself 
 to injustice, if I must speak plain; and I don't intend 
 to try to do so." 
 
 "My dear, good soul — ■" Bernard began quickly, 
 but Honora stopped him by a gesture. 
 
 "Please let me speak," she said. And then, taking 
 
 [61] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 a step nearer to the stiffly erect figure by the sewing 
 machine, she went on eagerly: "I sympathize and 
 agree with you entirely, Mrs. Kemp. Injustice has 
 been done — an injustice to which I find it as hard to 
 reconcile myself as you do, — but we are neither of us 
 accountable for it; and I am sure you are too just 
 to visit upon me what is no. fault of mine." 
 
 "I'm well aware that it's no fault of yours that 
 you are in Mr. Bernard's place," Mrs. Kemp conceded. 
 "But, all the same, I can't see my way to staying — " 
 
 "You will!" Bernard interrupted. "You'll do it 
 to oblige me, I'm sure. As Miss Trezevant has just 
 reminded you, it's not her fault that she's here; on 
 the contrary, it's clearly my fault — " 
 
 "Oh, yes," Mrs. Kemp sniffed, "I'll never deny 
 that there's fault enough on your side!" 
 
 "Then don't you see that I have an obligation to 
 help Miss Trezevant in a difficult position? (It's very 
 difficult to come so suddenly into a lot of money and 
 new responsibilities.) So I expect my friends to stand 
 by me, and help her, too. Now, I've no better friend 
 than you, and therefore, I want you to stay with her." 
 
 Mrs. Kemp turned and faced Honora. 
 
 "Do you want me to stay?" she asked directly. 
 "I'm old-fashioned, and I don't know anything about 
 the new ways you'll want to set up." 
 
 "I do want you to stay, very much," Honora 
 assured her. "And, as for being old-fashioned, I like 
 old-fashioned people and old-fashioned things; and I 
 shan't want to introduce many new ways — " 
 
 "Only a little tea just now," Bernard reminded 
 her. 
 
 "Yes," she said. "We like tea in the afternoon; 
 
 [62] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 so will you please send some out on the terrace, where 
 my sister and Mr. Page are? I suppose you — er — know 
 how to serve it?" 
 
 "I'm not likely not to know how to serve a cup of 
 tea," Mrs. Kemp remarked stiffly. "We've the best 
 Chinese, for Mr. Chisholm always drank it; and one 
 of the maids has lived with some people who have this 
 tea-drinking habit in the afternoons; so I'll send her 
 out with it. Now you can both go back if you like, 
 and your tea'll follow soon." 
 
 Thus dismissed, and again laughing together, they 
 took their departure from the sitting-room, which so 
 perfectly expressed its occupant's character, as the 
 rooms in which people live mostly do express their 
 characters; and followed a passage which led back 
 to the handsome central hall, where they had entered. 
 Here Honora paused, and turned toward Bernard. 
 
 "I want to thank you," she said, "for the kindness 
 which has made you settle this matter for me, and 
 settle it as no one else could have done; for Mrs. Kemp 
 would not have consented to stay for anybody but you. 
 And I want to know if you were really in earnest when 
 you said that you feel an obligation to help me in the 
 difficult position in which I am placed?" 
 
 "When you know me better," he told her, "you 
 won't think it necessary to ask such a question. I 
 couldn't be other than in earnest in saying that I feel 
 an obligation, and equally an inclination, to help you 
 in a position in which you have to face so many new 
 responsibilities." 
 
 "I'm glad you realize them," she said, "and that 
 you feel the obligation of which you speak. For it 
 gives me courage to ask that you will be good enough 
 
 [63] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to continue to fill the position which Mr. Maxwell 
 tells me you hold at present in connection with your 
 uncle's business." 
 
 She looked at him appealingly as she spoke; and 
 he, leaning back against the large carved table which 
 occupied the centre of the hall, did not reply for an 
 instant, while considering her with his bright, clear 
 glance. 
 
 "I think," he said at length, "that I have never 
 heard anything more gracefully and diplomatically 
 put. You are offering a benefit under the form of asking 
 a favor — " 
 
 "No, no," she interrupted eagerly. "It is purely 
 a favor that I am asking. For don't you see how 
 exactly it is as you've said — that I am in a very difficult 
 position, with great business interests of which I know 
 nothing, — and that really and truly I need all the 
 help I can get?" 
 
 "You can rely upon Mr. Maxwell." 
 
 "Mr. Maxwell can't do everything and be every- 
 where, and he tells me that your uncle had such confi- 
 dence in you that you have practically had charge of 
 everything." 
 
 "Oh, no! That's a mistake, though of course I've 
 had charge of a great deal; and I shall be glad to help 
 you in any way short of retaining — " 
 
 "But that's just it," she broke in. "It mustn't 
 be 'short of retaining.' I want you to retain the 
 position — I really don't know exactly what it is — which 
 you have held; for it is only in that way you can help 
 me, and prevent my feeling dreadfully about taking 
 your inheritance— if you really care about that." 
 
 "I do care very much," he assured her. "And I 
 
 [64] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 must remind you again that you have not taken my 
 inheritance. Can't you understand that the matter 
 was put up to me as a clear-cut issue? My uncle said 
 in a few plain words, 'I'll never leave my money to a 
 Roman Catholic. If you enter that Church you won't 
 inherit a penny from me. So make your choice.' I 
 made it, and he kept his word, as I expected him to 
 keep it, and that's all. I haven't the faintest ground 
 for complaint, if I were disposed to make any; and 
 you haven't the faintest reason for 'feeling dreadfully' 
 on the subject, as I've already tried to make plain to 
 you." 
 
 Again she felt the sincerity which emanated from 
 him, which was expressed in every tone of his voice, 
 every line of his face; and her own face was full of the 
 wonder in her mind. For it was one thing to think 
 and speak abstractly in admiration of such a sacrifice 
 as he had made, and another to have its meaning 
 brought home to her, as she looked at him, standing 
 in the rich setting of the beautiful hall which should 
 have been his, where every detail bore the impress 
 of his taste, and which he had forfeited because he had 
 chosen — what, after all, had he chosen that was worth 
 the price he paid? Impulsively she spoke her thought 
 aloud: 
 
 "It can't be possible that you don't regret your 
 choice now!" 
 
 There came a sudden flash into the handsome eyes 
 regarding her, which was like the opening of a door 
 into the soul. She seemed to catch a glimpse of unutter- 
 able things, of some strange secret joy that leaped up 
 and for an instant revealed itself; and then the smile 
 
 [65] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 she had already learned to know shone again in the 
 hazel depths. 
 
 "It is quite possible," he told her simply. "I not 
 only don't regret it in the least, but I should feel myself 
 a very contemptible person if I did regret it. For what 
 is more contemptible than ingratitude? I think" (his 
 smiling eyes seemed reading her as he spoke) "that 
 you understand this." 
 
 "About ingratitude being contemptible — oh, yes!" 
 she answered. "But about your attitude, I confess I 
 don't understand that altogether. I wish" — she paused, 
 and then felt driven on by a compelling impulse, — "I 
 wish you would tell me what it is exactly that you 
 have gained which outweighs so much the very tangible 
 things you have lost?" 
 
 He shook his head, and now the smile came about 
 his lips also. 
 
 'You mustn't tempt me to begin telling you that," 
 he said; "for it would lead us very far, and open — 
 you've no idea how many avenues of discussion it 
 would open. I should have to talk on a subject which 
 is as wide as life, and as far-reaching as eternity; and 
 that really wouldn't do — not at least when we are 
 just beginning our acquaintance." 
 
 " But you will later, when we are better acquainted? " 
 she urged; and added, coloring quickly. "Perhaps I 
 ought to apologize for pressing a personal inquiry. But 
 you know you have done such a very remarkable thing 
 that I must feel interested, and — and more than a little 
 curious to hear you explain it." 
 
 "It's natural that you should be curious," he 
 said; "and I suppose it does seem to you, as to others, 
 that I have done an extraordinary thing. But to me 
 
 [66] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 it seems the most simple and obvious thing imaginable, — 
 so simple and obvious that there is little or nothing 
 to explain. Whatever there is, however, I'll try and 
 explain to you some day — if you are still interested." 
 
 "Oh, I shall certainly be interested!" she assured 
 him. "There are many reasons why I shall like to 
 know whatever you care to tell me about what has 
 influenced my life, as well as yours, so deeply." 
 
 "Yes, it has influenced yours very deeply," he 
 agreed; "but I like to think that it has only been in 
 the direction of good." 
 
 It was a surprise to herself that she hesitated before 
 answering this, — that a sudden doubt obtruded itself 
 into her mind. Only a little while before, she had 
 declared that the wonderful prosperity which had 
 come to her was like a fore-taste of heaven. Why, 
 then, was she suddenly conscious of misgiving, of 
 wondering what its ultimate end might be? And why 
 did she feel a thrill, not of compassion but of some- 
 thing closely resembling envy, as she looked at the 
 man who had so cheerfully embraced a great oppor- 
 tunity of sacrifice, and declared it "the most simple 
 and obvious" thing to do? 
 
 "I have certainly gained immensely by what you 
 have lost," she said at length. "But we don't know 
 the end of anything, do we? There are great tempta- 
 tions as well as great responsibilities in wealth, you 
 know." 
 
 "I think you will meet the temptations and dis- 
 charge the responsibilities in the right spirit," he told 
 her kindly. 
 
 She met his eyes with a great wistfulness shining 
 in her own. At this mometn she felt intensely conscious 
 
 [67] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of some deep reserve of strength in him, on which she 
 longed to call. 
 
 'You haven't told me yet that you'll help me 
 with regard to the responsibilities," she said: "that 
 you will consent to keep your present position in 
 connection with the business, or any other position 
 that you may prefer." 
 
 He threw back his head and laughed boyishly. 
 
 "What a magnificently unlimited offer!" he ex- 
 claimed. 'You mustn't let Mr. Maxwell know that 
 you've made it, or he might be led to reconsider his 
 high opinion of your business ability. Well, let us 
 compromise. I'll agree to stay for the present, and 
 keep things going until you are able to find some one 
 to fill my place, or perhaps to direct the businesss 
 yourself." 
 
 'That is a bargain?" she asked eagerly. "You'll 
 promise to stay and help me as long as I require help?" 
 
 "It is a bargain," he answered. "I'll stay as long 
 as I think you really need my help; for I wasn't merely 
 trying to influence Mrs. Kemp when I told her that 
 I feel bound to assist you in the difficulties of a situation 
 which is so largely of my creating." 
 
 "Which is altogether of your creating," she said. 
 "But here comes the tea! And now we'll go and see 
 what has become of Cecily and Julian Page." 
 
 [68] 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHAT had become of Cecily and Julian Page 
 may be briefly summed up in the statement 
 that they were advancing toward intimacy 
 with seven-league boots. There was, in fact, everything 
 to promote a spirit of camaraderie between these two. 
 Youth, similarity of tastes, and the artistic temperament 
 possessed by both in different degrees, produced a 
 sympathetic understanding which was recognized and 
 expressed by each with equally frank surprise and 
 pleasure. 
 
 "I hadn't the faintest idea of finding anybody 
 like you here!" Cecily exclaimed. "An artist just back 
 from the studios of Paris — why, it's almost incredibly 
 delightful!" 
 
 ' You're incredibly delightful!" the young man told 
 her with equal frankness, and even greater enthusiasm. 
 "I had no more idea of seeing anybody like you than — 
 well, any comparison I can think of is altogether 
 inadequate to express my astonishment. Of course 
 I had heard that you were more than ordinarily good- 
 looking. 'The younger sister is extremely pretty,' 
 people said; but how could that prepare me for 
 finding such — such a subject for a painter!" 
 
 "A great many painters have found me a good 
 subject," Cecily remarked, with the calmness of one 
 who has nothing more to learn about her own beauty. 
 
 [69] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "My friends among the artists in New York were 
 constantly begging me to sit to them, and I rather 
 liked doing it until I found myself recognized and 
 stared at when I went to art exhibitions — which 
 wasn't pleasant, you know." 
 
 "The fellows were in luck who got you to sit for 
 them," Julian said enviously. "I don't think any 
 painter has had such a subject since Romney painted 
 Lady Hamilton." 
 
 "My hair no doubt suggests that comparison," 
 she laughed. "Then, if you think they were so lucky, 
 would you like to try your hand at painting me?" 
 
 "Would I?" His eyes shone with eagerness. "I'd 
 give anything to have the pleasure and privilege — " 
 
 "You shall have it! I'll make Honora give you 
 a commission to paint my portrait. I suppose you 
 do paint portraits?" 
 
 "That's my present occupation," he answered. 
 "After I had spent quite a good deal of time and more 
 than a good deal of money in studying abroad, my 
 family suggested that it was desirable that some 
 results in a material way should appear. It was 
 pointed out to me that portrait-painting was a lucra- 
 tive branch of art, and that there was a field for 
 its exercise here, where for the first time since the war, 
 people began to be rich enough to have their portraits 
 painted. So I came back reluctantly enough, announced 
 that I was ready to perpetuate the new order on 
 canvas, and so far the new order has responded pretty 
 well. But it's uninspiring work. The types aren't 
 sufficiently distinguished to make it interesting, unless 
 one gets hold of some representative of the old regime; 
 and they, as a rule, are not in the prosperous class." 
 
 [70] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Never mind!" Cecily consoled him. "Fate has 
 sent you an inspiring subject in me; and there's 
 Honora, too! We must have her portrait painted, 
 and she is certainly an interesting type. She'll take 
 more painting to do her justice than I will, I can tell 
 you that." 
 
 The young artist nodded. 
 
 "Of a kind, yes," he agreed. "There's something 
 very striking about her — not exactly beauty, but — 
 er — a great deal of soul, if one may put it that way." 
 
 "Exactly." Cecily nodded in turn. "That's just 
 it; and souls are harder to paint than Titian hair." 
 
 "I'm ready to try," Mr. Page declared cheerfully. 
 "It's a very inspiring prospect, to have a chance at 
 two such subjects — that is, if you really think she'll 
 consent to be painted." 
 
 "Oh, yes, she'll consent, if I put the matter to her 
 judiciously! She's very good about doing whatever 
 I ask." 
 
 "What luck for you that she has the power now 
 to do so much!" the young man could not refrain from 
 commenting. "But do you know," he went on, with 
 a burst of confidence, "since I've seen her I'm more 
 than ever surprised at the extraordinary turn «of 
 fortune that has given her the power?" 
 
 "I suppose you mean that you are more than 
 ever surprised at old Mr. Chisholm's choice of her 
 to inherit his estate," Cecily said. "Well, frankly, 
 you can't be more surprised than I am. I simply can 
 not understand it at all; for Honora's not in the least 
 the kind of person that you'd think a hard, money- 
 making old man would be attracted by. And, besides, 
 he didn't know her." 
 
 [7i] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "He knew some things about her that attracted 
 him, though. Bernard says that he has heard him 
 speak with approval of the plucky fight she was making 
 in New York. That was before he had any idea of 
 finding any other heir than Bernard himself; but 
 when the necessity to do so arose, you see he remem- 
 bered the girl whose courage he had liked. That's 
 the way Bernard accounts for a choice that astonished 
 him as well as everybody else." 
 
 "What an enigma he is — Bernard, I mean!" Cecily 
 said abruptly. "What a strange thing he has done, 
 and what an unlikely person he seems, as far as 
 appearances go, to have done it! Do interpret him 
 to me, if you can." 
 
 Julian shook his head. 
 
 "I can't," he replied. "Bernard is in great degree 
 a mystery to me; though I've known him all my 
 life, and we've always been, when we were together, 
 very good friends. He's an extremely attractive person, 
 as you can see, straight as a die, with a super-normal 
 liking for things that are clean and high, and a great 
 disgust always for things that are otherwise. But 
 there wasn't ever a shade of what is called puritanism 
 about him. He didn't seem to take any interest in 
 religion, and he enjoyed life in a whole-hearted manner. 
 So you can imagine my amazement when I heard that 
 he had gone off at a religious tangent, and thrown 
 away a magnificent fortune." 
 
 "He can't be sane," Cecily declared with con- 
 viction. "No sane person could do such a thing." 
 
 "Oh, he's sane all right!" Julian assured her. 
 "And, not only sane, but astonishingly unrepentant. 
 I've looked for signs of regret in him, and I have never 
 
 [72] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 yet seen one. He's a mystery, Bernard is, and all the 
 more for putting on no mysterious airs." 
 
 "Haven't you tried to make him explain himself?" 
 
 "There are subjects one doesn't like to press; 
 and he's a very reserved fellow about his — er — inner 
 life." 
 
 "But what directed his attention to the Catholic 
 Church? There must have been some strong attrac- 
 tion. Was he, perhaps, in love with a Catholic?" 
 
 "If so, I've never heard of her existence; in fact, 
 I'm quite sure she doesn't exist. I've never heard 
 of his having any Catholic associations; which tends 
 to make the matter more mysterious still." 
 
 "It is so mysterious that it intrigues me immensely," 
 Cecily said, "and I am going to set myself to find 
 the mot de Venigme. There's bound to be one, you 
 know." 
 
 "I suppose so," Julian agreed. "And when you 
 find it, will you kindly share the knowledge with me?" 
 
 "That will depend on what it proves to be," she 
 answered. "One mustn't violate confidence, you know. 
 I must certainly turn my attention to that astonishing 
 young man." 
 
 The opportunity to turn her attention to the young 
 man whom all his friends found so astonishing was 
 not long in coming to Cecily. Opportunities of the 
 kind were never long in coming to her; for those whom 
 she desired to favor with her attention were always 
 ready to afford her every facility for doing so. Bernard 
 Chisholm proved no exception to the rule; and when 
 she presently put down her teacup, and invited him to 
 show her where the old gardens ended and the new 
 
 [73] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 began — they had been talking of the plans on which 
 the latter were laid out, — he rose with the utmost 
 alacrity, and they walked away together. Honora 
 looked after them with an expression which made 
 Julian Page wonder a little what she was thinking ; but 
 the next moment she turned her eyes on him and 
 explained. 
 
 "I hope Cecily will like him," she said. "I am 
 so anxious that we shall be friends, and it's not always 
 easy to know beforehand how she will like people." 
 
 "Oh, everybody likes Bernard!" Julian assured 
 her. "It's really quite impossible to do otherwise. 
 And your sister herself is so — er — fascinating, that I 
 haven't a doubt of their being friends. How beautiful 
 she is!" he added impulsively. "And an artist besides! 
 What a delightful combination!" 
 
 "Cecily isn't much of an artist except in taste and 
 sympathy," Honora said, smiling. "But she is wonder- 
 fully adaptable, and they made so much of her in 
 the studios, on account of her beauty, you know — " 
 
 "They'd have been blind if they hadn't." 
 
 "That she absorbed a great deal, and her instincts 
 are all artistic. But I never had any illusions about 
 her becoming an artist in any real sense. There is 
 too much drudgery required to master the practical 
 side of any art, and Cecily doesn't like drudgery." 
 
 "How could she? Nature has so plainly formed 
 her for other things!" 
 
 Honora laughed a little sadly. 
 
 "But Nature didn't furnish the means to support 
 the other things," she said. "That has caused me 
 great anxiety." 
 
 "I can imagine it," the young man said sympa- 
 
 [74] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 thetically. "But, happily, all need for such anxiety 
 is over now. I can't tell you how immensely glad I 
 am — since I've seen you — that old Cousin Alex was 
 moved to leave his fortune as he did." 
 
 "I shouldn't speak truly if I said I wasn't glad; 
 for I am, especially on Cecily's account," Honora 
 answered. "But perhaps you'll believe that I am 
 also very sorry for Bernard's loss." 
 
 "You needn't be." Julian echoed almost exactly 
 Mrs. Kemp's assertion. "Bernard isn't an object for 
 sympathy at all He's taken his loss like a true 
 sportsman — " 
 
 "Like something better than that, I think." 
 
 "Well, perhaps so, but I speak of it as it appears 
 to me; and I can assure you that he was genuinely 
 pleased when he learned that his uncle had made you 
 his heir. 'Why, that was fine of Uncle Alexander!' 
 he exclaimed. 'I never thought he would do anything 
 so good.'" 
 
 "He said the same thing to me ten minutes after 
 we met, and I felt that it was impossible to doubt 
 his sincerity." 
 
 f "It's quite impossible to doubt his sincerity about 
 anything," Julian told her. "He's really a remarkable 
 character in that respect. So I hope you'll set your 
 mind at rest about having inherited the fortune, and 
 just proceed to enjoy it as you should." 
 
 "That's what he said also, — that I ought to enjoy 
 it. But it isn't altogether easy to do so." 
 
 "It would be immensely easy to most people," 
 the young man laughed. "I'm beginning to believe 
 that you are as remarkable as Bernard himself if you 
 find it difficult." 
 
 [75] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 He was struck by the wistful beauty of the eyes 
 which looked at him. 
 
 "Wouldn't you find it difficult," she asked, "to enjoy 
 an inheritance which was taken from a man because he 
 had done the highest thing possible — obeyed his con- 
 science, even when to do so entailed great sacrifice?" 
 
 "Upon my soul, I don't know whether I would 
 or not," Mr. Page confessed. "But I think I should 
 feel that no doubt he had his reward in the approval 
 of his conscience — it must be an awfully agreeable 
 thing to have an approving conscience, — and that, 
 therefore, I might enjoy what had come to me without 
 any effort on my part. You see, it's like this. You 
 can't eat your cake and have it, too. Bernard couldn't 
 expect to have the gratification of doing the highest 
 thing possible and escape the sacrifice it entailed. 
 I'm sure he didn't expect it. I'm sure he counted the 
 cost and accepted it, and is now, as I've said, far too 
 good a sportsman to complain." 
 
 'You make it very clear," she smiled. "And your 
 view is so much like his that I suppose I must accept 
 it, and try to be a sportsman, too. Now tell me some- 
 thing about this wonderfully changed Kingsford I've 
 come back to, and the people I used to know. Was 
 Cousin Mary Page your mother? Yes, I thought so. 
 I remember her, and I hope she is — " 
 
 "Alive and well? Very much alive, and quite 
 well, thanks, and extremely anxious to see you. She'll 
 be here very . soon — everybody except Bernard and 
 myself thought it would be decent to give you a little 
 time to settle down in, — and all Kingsford, old and 
 new, will follow her. Shall I try to describe some of 
 the people you'll meet?" 
 
 [76] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Do!" Honora said gratefully. 
 
 She found that his gift of verbal description — of 
 hitting off a character in a few striking phrases — was 
 fully equal to any power he might possess of limning 
 a likeness with his brush; and before Cecily and 
 Bernard returned from the gardens, she had acquired 
 a very clear idea of Kingsford society, and of those 
 who led it, under the changed conditions which 
 prevailed. 
 
 The sun was dropping low toward the west, and 
 the long, golden shafts of light, which at the closing 
 of day have such an extraordinarily beautiful effect, 
 were streaming across the terrace, and gilding all the 
 massed verdure below, when Cecily and Bernard finally 
 appeared, each bearing an armful of flowers, and 
 making such a picture as they advanced, that Julian 
 Page cried out eagerly, — 
 
 "Oh, stop, — stop where you are, that I may take 
 in the effect of your figures in this light. Oh, why 
 couldn't I paint you" (this to Cecily) "just as you are 
 now, with all those roses in your arms, and the long 
 sunshine bringing out every tint of color in your face 
 and hair?" 
 
 "There's no reason at all why you shouldn't," she 
 replied, "except that I can't possibly wait until you 
 bring paints and canvas, and the sunlight won't wait 
 either. It's heavenly in the gardens, Honora; and 
 there's such a wealth of flowers that I simply had to 
 bring some of them back with me. It was hard to come 
 back oneself, wasn't it?" she appealed to Bernard, 
 with laughing eyes. 
 
 "So hard," he answered, "that I think we deserve 
 
 [77] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the utmost credit for having returned. But there 
 really should be a limit to a visit — especially a first 
 visit — and therefore I feel that Julian and I must now 
 make our adieux, and perhaps our apologies also." 
 
 'There's nothing possibly less called for than 
 apologies," Cecily assured him, as she relieved him of 
 his load of flowers. 
 
 A few minutes later the sisters were alone, and 
 watching the figures of the two young men as they 
 went down the hill. There was a smile on Cecily's 
 lips, and a light in her eyes that Honora knew well — 
 a light of pleasure and gratified vanity — as she turned 
 and looked at her. 
 
 'They are delightful, aren't they?" she said. 
 "Had you any idea of finding such men here, — and 
 cousins, too, which enables one to be perfectly at ease 
 with them at once?" 
 
 "One couldn't be other than at ease with either 
 of them, for they are so easy themselves," Honora 
 answered. "I know you would like Julian Page very 
 much — " 
 
 "I don't like him any better than I like Bernard 
 Chisholm," Cecily interrupted quickly. "In fact, he's 
 the less interesting of the two to me, because I've 
 known many men more or less of his type; but I've 
 never known anybody of the type of the other, have 
 you?" 
 
 Honora shook her head. 
 
 "No," she said. "I've never seen anybody just 
 like him; but he's very attractive." 
 
 "Oh, that's a commonplace way of describing him!" 
 Cecily objected. "Of course it's quite true that he is 
 attractive; but he's a great deal more than that. 
 
 [?8] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 There's something very subtle about him. Don't you 
 feel it?" 
 
 "Perhaps so," Honora assented, "if by subtle you 
 mean that you don't exactly understand him." 
 
 "I mean a great deal more than that. There are 
 numbers of people whom one mightn't understand, 
 but whom it wouldn't at all follow that one would be 
 interested in. Now, Bernard Chisholm is tremen- 
 dously interesting— didn't you find him so when you 
 carried him off to talk to him?" 
 
 "I didn't carry him off," Honora reminded her. 
 "He followed me, because he wanted — " 
 
 'To talk to you. Of course I understood that." 
 "He wanted to help me with Mrs. Kemp," Honora 
 patiently explained. "It was very kind of him indeed; 
 and he has persuaded her to remain as housekeeper 
 for the present." 
 
 'We could have managed very well without Mrs. 
 Kemp," Cecily commented. "Of course he meant it 
 kindly; but it would have been better to let a tiresome 
 old woman, with a pronounced grievance, go. You 
 weren't however, negotiating with Mrs. Kemp all 
 the time you were away?" 
 
 "Oh, no: we stopped to talk of other things, and 
 he has promised to keep his position as general 
 manager— I think that's what it is— of the business 
 of the estate." 
 
 'You did that!" Cecily stared at her sister. "You 
 absolutely opened the subject immediately, and made 
 him promise to stay in charge of what is not his anv 
 longer?" 
 
 "It never was his, you know." 
 
 "But of course he felt as if it were, and now— 
 
 [79] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Honora, you do astonish one occasionally very much!" 
 
 "I don't see that I have done anything very aston- 
 ishing," Honora remarked. 
 
 "That's because you are not subtle," Cecily told her. 
 "But his consenting to stay shows at least that he is 
 pleased with — you." 
 
 "He says that he feels an obligation to help me, 
 since the situation has been created by his act," Honora 
 further explained. 
 
 Cecily looked meditatively after the slender, well- 
 knit figure, now disappearing behind the last curve 
 of the downward road. 
 
 "He's amazingly original!" she observed. "I'm 
 glad you have arranged matters so that we shall see 
 a great deal of him; for as I told Julian Page a little 
 while ago, he intrigues me immensely." 
 
 A sudden sense of misgiving made Honora turn 
 toward the speaker quickly. 
 
 "Cecily," she said appealingly, "don't lead Bernard 
 Chisholm to find yon too interesting. I — I couldn't 
 bear for any harm to come to him through us." 
 
 Cecily's lovely eyes — which were of an indescribable 
 shade of color, somewhat like the tint of a purple 
 pansy — opened injuredly. 
 
 "Am I in the habit of leading men to find me 
 interesting?" she asked. "I am generally obliged to 
 devote my efforts to discouraging their interest. But 
 you needn't be afraid for Bernard Chisholm. He can 
 take care of himself, and I'm sure we shall be very 
 great friends." 
 
 [80] 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHEN Mr. Maxwell, punctual to his appoint- 
 ment, arrived the next morning, he found 
 Honora, equally punctual, awaiting him in 
 the library, to which he was immediately shown. She 
 met him with the friendly cordiality he had already 
 learned to expect from her; and, as they shook hands, 
 he was so struck by the smiling brightness of her eyes, 
 as well as by a subtle change in her whole manner 
 and expression, that he said approvingly: 
 
 "You look as if you are at last beginning to realize 
 and enjoy your good fortune." 
 
 "I am," she replied. "For the first time it has 
 acquired reality for me; and I should surely be very 
 ungrateful if I didn't enjoy this beautiful place, and 
 all that its possession means." 
 
 "I'm glad that you've come to see things that 
 way," he remarked; "for your attitude up to this 
 time has been rather surprising. You've struck me as 
 being more puzzled and worried than pleased by the 
 change in your circumstances." 
 
 She laughed a little, as they sat down together at 
 the massive library table. 
 
 'You are right: I have been both puzzled and 
 worried," she said. "But things have cleared very 
 much for me since I met Bernard Chisholm. You 
 know he came to see me yesterday afternoon — but of 
 course you know, since you' sent him." 
 
 [81] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Oh, no, I didn't send him!" Mr. Maxwell said. 
 "I only told him that I knew you would be glad to see 
 him, and he was off at once; for it appeared that he 
 was extremely anxious to see you." 
 
 "Do you know why?" The leaf -brown eyes grew 
 brighter as she looked at him. "For the kindest reason 
 imaginable — because he had an instinct that I was 
 feeling badly about taking the inheritance that should 
 have been his, and he wanted to assure me that there 
 was no cause for such a feeling." 
 
 "He has apparently succeeded in convincing you 
 that there is no cause." 
 
 "How could one fail to be convinced when he 
 declares seriously and earnestly that he made a delib- 
 erate choice, which he doesn't regret in the least? 
 You know him better than I do: could you doubt his 
 assurance when given like that?" 
 
 "I don't think I could," Mr. Maxwell replied. "I've 
 never known a more sincere person than Bernard 
 Chisholm. I'm sure nothing would induce him to say 
 what wasn't strictly true." 
 
 "Then one must believe what he says, even though 
 it appears almost incredible," Honora deduced. "That 
 strikes me as a great triumph of character," she added — 
 "that people who are altogether out of sympathy 
 with his motives, nevertheless believe absolutely in 
 his sincerity." 
 
 "Well, you see he's given a proof of sincerity which 
 not even the most incredulous can doubt," the lawyer 
 remarked a little dryly. 
 
 "Yes," she assented. "Nobody doubts the sin- 
 cerity which is proved by giving up money. It 
 makes one wonder if that isn't the supreme use of 
 
 [82] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 money in the world, to serve as a test of character." 
 
 "It is certainly the great test," the man of the 
 world agreed. "It's by their attitude with regard to 
 money that we learn most unmistakably what men 
 and women really are." 
 
 "And by that test Bernard Chisholm has proved 
 so unmistakably what he is," the girl deduced again, 
 "that I'm sure you'll be glad to hear that he has con- 
 sented to remain in charge of the business of the 
 Chisholm estate." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell, who had begun to untie a bundle 
 of papers, looked up from them with his eyes opening 
 widely under their glasses. 
 
 "Is it possible?" he ejaculated. "I never thought 
 he would consider remaining for a moment. And — er — 
 you've certainly lost no time in settling the matter." 
 
 "It seemed to me that it couldn't be settled too 
 soon," Honora said simply. "So I took advantage of 
 the first opportunity to ask him if he wouldn't remain 
 in his present position — which is, practically, that of 
 general manager, isn't it? Yes, I thought so" (as Mr. 
 Maxwell nodded). "At first he was unwilling to consent 
 but I put it to him so that he finally agreed to stay — 
 for the present. I must own that he qualified his 
 consent in that way." 
 
 The lawyer leaned back in his chair and regarded 
 her with an astonishment in which curiosity was 
 largely mingled. 
 
 "May I ask how you put it to him?" he inquired. 
 "I'd have wagered almost anything that he wouldn't 
 consent to remain under any circumstances." 
 
 "I told him," Honora explained, "that, as he had 
 by his act brought about the situation in which I am 
 
 |83l 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 placed, I thought he ought to feel an obligation to 
 help me discharge the obligations that have been 
 thrown on me. He acknowledged that I was right, — 
 that, since he had created the situation, he did owe me 
 the help I claimed. And so he consented to remain 
 in charge of the business." 
 
 "Upon my word!" Mr. Maxwell emitted a short 
 burst of laughter. "That exceeds anything I've ever 
 heard in the way of plea. You, who've gained every- 
 thing, demand help from him, who has lost it all, on 
 the ground that he is responsible for your gain as well 
 as for his own loss!" 
 
 "And isn't it true?" Honora inquired calmly. 
 "Isn't he responsible for the gain as well as for 
 the loss?" 
 
 "If he is, it doesn't constitute a claim upon him 
 for service. That's quite the most illogical and absurd 
 thing I ever heard of." 
 
 "I'm glad to say that he didn't seem to consider 
 it either illogical or absurd," Honora remarked, with 
 the same calmness. "He saw my point of view at 
 once, and acknowledged that it was reasonable. I 
 confess" (a slightly deprecating smile came now about 
 her lips) "that perhaps I took an unfair advantage of 
 a plea he had made to Mrs. Kemp, to induce her to 
 remain in her position — " 
 
 "Is it possible that Mrs. Kemp has consented to 
 remain?" 
 
 "Yes, but only because 'Mr. Bernard' asked her 
 to do so; and the ground on which he put his request 
 was that it would be kind to make things easier for my 
 inexperience. So then I asked him if this didn't apply 
 in a larger sense to his own position, and he admitted 
 
 [84] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 that it did, as he also admitted his responsibility for 
 the whole situation. I hope I didn't press the last 
 point too strongly; but I was very anxious for him 
 to stay, and — and I thought you would be glad to 
 know that he has consented to do so." 
 
 "I am glad," Mr. Maxwell assured her, "both for 
 his sake and for the sake of the business. But I'm 
 also exceedingly surprised. I never imagined that he 
 would stay. It seemed too much to expect that he 
 would remain as a servant where he had been vir- 
 tually master, in his own mind and that of everyone 
 else." 
 
 "I think one might expect a good deal of him 
 without being disappointed," Honora observed quietly. 
 "And I should like you to believe that, in making the 
 only plea that would have induced him to remain, I 
 wasn't as selfish as perhaps I seem." 
 
 "My dear young lady," Mr. Maxwell exclaimed, 
 "I don't for an instant imagine that you were selfish 
 in any degree! Of course I understand that you were 
 chiefly anxious to benefit him by inducing him to 
 retain his connection with the business in a well-paid 
 position — " 
 
 "Yes, but it was only a secondary consideration 
 that it is — that it must be — a well-paid position," she 
 interposed quickly. "No doubt he could find a position 
 elsewhere that would pay him as well; but I want him 
 to stay here because this is his place, and he must not 
 lose touch with it." 
 
 Again the lawyer looked at her curiously, as if 
 wondering what she had in her mind. 
 
 "It would certainly be a pity that he should do 
 so," he said; "for he has a very complete grasp of all 
 
 [85] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the details of the business, and a remarkable influence 
 over the people employed in the factories." 
 
 "We couldn't afford to lose that influence, could 
 we?" Honora queried wistfully. "It means so much, 
 the influence of personality. And one has only to see 
 Bernard Chisholm to realize what an effect his person- 
 ality may exert." 
 
 "He's an uncommonly attractive person," Mr. 
 Maxwell agreed; "but there's necessarily a weak side 
 to his character, or he couldn't have been led away 
 in the extraordinary manner that he was." 
 
 "I should say that there must be a very strong 
 side to his character, or he couldn't have acted as he 
 did," Honora remarked. "It's as you said a moment 
 ago about his sincerity — one can't doubt the strength 
 that is proved by such a sacrifice as he has made." 
 
 "Oh, strength of will — yes, he has plenty of that!" 
 the lawyer admitted. "It's in judgment that he has 
 proved weak. A man can be obstinate and ready to 
 sacrifice his interest in a mistaken cause, you know." 
 
 "I suppose he can be. But isn't it difficult to tell 
 with certainty what is a mistaken cause?" 
 
 "Not in this case, I think." The tone was dry 
 and a trifle significant. "Now shall we proceed to 
 business? I've brought here a statement of the property, 
 and of the sources from which your income is derived." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell was not surprised when, on returning 
 to his office a little later, he found Bernard Chisholm 
 there waiting for him. The young man laid down the 
 newspaper over which he had been glancing, and looked 
 up with a smile as the older man entered. 
 
 "You've been longer than I expected," he said. 
 
 [86] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "But of course a business interview with a woman 
 demands time." 
 
 "Not with such a woman as Honora Trezevant," 
 the lawyer answered. "She has as clear a head for 
 business as any man — as you'll soon find." 
 
 The other lifted his brows, smiling a little more. 
 
 "I'll find! That means you've heard—" 
 
 "Naturally. Didn't you intend me to hear?" 
 
 "My presence here answers that question. I came 
 to tell you that I've promised Miss Trezevant to remain 
 in charge of the business for the present; and, finding 
 you gone, I hadn't much difficulty in guessing where 
 you were. Of course I knew that she'd tell you. I 
 suppose you were surprised." 
 
 "Extremely." Mr. Maxwell sat down in his 
 accustomed chair, and swung it around to face the 
 other. "That doesn't mean, however, that I'm not 
 heartily glad on your account as well as on hers," he 
 went on; "but you'll understand why I wasn't expect- 
 ing such a decision on your part." 
 
 "I understand perfectly. I wasn't expecting it 
 myself." 
 
 "And so you'll perhaps not mind explaining a 
 little. I'm curious to know why you allowed her to 
 persuade you to stay, if you didn't wish to do so." 
 
 "Well, there's something very appealing about 
 her," the young man confessed. "And the whole situ- 
 ation is appealing. It's a tremendous responsibility 
 to throw, without any preparation, on a girl, you 
 know; and it seemed hardly decent to refuse to help 
 her with it." 
 
 "So it was quixotism, after all. I was inclined to 
 think so." 
 
 [87] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I shouldn't call it quixotism exactly. It was 
 rather—" Bernard paused a moment, and his manner 
 grew graver — "a sense of duty. I don't like to appear 
 priggish, but there seemed to me a call of duty involved 
 that I couldn't disregard. Oh, yes" (answering Mr. 
 Maxwell's look), "I know you're thinking that it's 
 strange I should feel duty in connection with what 
 has been taken from me and given to some one else; 
 but, you see, I don't look at the matter from that 
 point of view at all." 
 
 "It's quite beyond me to tell from what point of 
 view you do look at it," the other bluntly remarked. 
 
 "Yet it's very plain," Bernard said quietly. 
 "Putting aside Miss Trezevant and her need of help, 
 there's a great deal I can do in connection with the 
 property that no one else can do. You'll grant that 
 I suppose?" 
 
 "Of course I will. I told her so." 
 
 "Well, doesn't capability carry an obligation with 
 it? I mean — oh, confound it! I must talk like a prig! 
 Isn't it clear that where one is needed, where one sees 
 one's work cut out and waiting, is where one should 
 stay, whether it's the place one would choose or not?" 
 
 "I can't see that there's any obligation upon you 
 to stay and work for a business that you've no longer 
 any interest in." 
 
 "But I have an interest in it, — that's just the 
 point. I haven't lost my interest in seeing it prosper, 
 in carrying on what was so close to my poor uncle's 
 heart, and in helping the people concerned, just because 
 it doesn't belong to me. Personal possession is really 
 a very small thing, you know." 
 
 "I'll be hanged if it is!" Mr. Maxwell declared with 
 
 [88] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 energy. "It's the most important thing in human 
 society, and you're talking nonsense when you say 
 otherwise." 
 
 "Oh, I'm not disputing the sacred rights of 
 property!" Bernard told him, with a laugh. "I mean 
 only that to some people — and I'm one of them — it 
 is a matter of small importance whether or not one's 
 personal interest is at stake when it's a question of 
 good work to be done." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell looked at him with much the same 
 mixture of admiration and disapproval that Mrs. 
 Kemp's manner had expressed. 
 
 "You're an odd fellow," he said, "and a striking 
 example of the result of not taking personal interest 
 into consideration. You'd be able to accomplish a 
 great deal more if you owned the Chisholm estate 
 yourself, as you ought to own it, you know." 
 
 "Oh, I'm well enough aware of that!" Bernard 
 answered. "There were many things I had dreamed 
 of doing when the ownership came to me. But of 
 course it was not necessary that they should be done," 
 he added cheerfully, "or the opportunity would have 
 been given me." 
 
 "The opportunity was in your hand and you threw 
 it away," Mr. Maxwell reminded him. "You can't 
 blame anybody but yourself — " 
 
 "I don't," the young man interpolated. 
 
 "But it looks as if another opportunity may be 
 offered you now, if you have sense enough to take 
 advantage of it." 
 
 "You mean—?" 
 
 "I mean that Miss Trezevant will undoubtedly 
 give you a free hand with the business, and you'll be 
 
 [89] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 able to carry out your plans almost as if you were the 
 owner; while of course, if things prosper with them — " 
 
 "I'm really not thinking of anything of that kind." 
 
 "Well, so much the worse for you if you're not," 
 Mr. Maxwell snapped. "Having ruined your prospects 
 in life by throwing away a fine fortune for— um — er — " 
 
 "A question of conscience, let us say." 
 
 "You've now an extraordinary chance to recover 
 a part at least of what you've lost. This girl who 
 has inherited your uncle's fortune is a very uncommon 
 person, let me tell you." 
 
 Bernard nodded. "I've observed that," he said. 
 
 "She has not only the clearest head for business 
 I've ever seen in a woman, as I remarked a few minutes 
 ago, but she's thinking of everything and everybody 
 in the world sooner than herself." 
 
 "I've also observed that." 
 
 "And there's nothing she's thinking of more than 
 of how to make up to you for your great loss." 
 
 "But that won't do, you know!" the young man 
 cried quickly. "I've tried to set her straight on that 
 point, — to make her understand that I'm not injured 
 in any way. But as she insists on considering me as 
 a subject for charitable atonement, I'll have to re- 
 consider the promise to stay, which, between ourselves, 
 she extorted from me — " 
 
 "She acknowledges that she did." 
 
 "And sever my connection with the Chisholm estate 
 in an emphatic manner." 
 
 "If you do, you'll play the fool more completely 
 than I could have imagined possible, even for you — " 
 
 "Many thanks!" 
 
 "And you'll behave in a very rude and ungracious 
 
 [90] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 manner besides — which I really consider you incapable 
 of doing." 
 
 "Thanks again! But don't you see that to stay 
 in order to help her, and to stay when she thinks she's 
 benefiting me by retaining my services, are two very 
 different things?" 
 
 "Just so." Mr. Maxwell's tone took its driest 
 accent. "It's the difference between being willing to 
 confer a favor and quite unwilling to receive one. 
 There's nothing remarkable in that attitude, but 
 there's a confounded amount of unregenerate pride." 
 
 "Possibly there is," Bernard admitted; "but, all 
 the same, I'm afraid I can't consent to occupy the 
 position of Miss Trezevant's beneficiary." 
 
 "There's not the slightest danger that your new 
 religion will ever canonize you for your humility," Mr. 
 Maxwell assured him. "Well, you may set your pride 
 at rest. She is quite as much impressed as you could 
 desire with the favor you are doing her by remaining." 
 
 "Oh, I don't want her to feel anything like that!" 
 
 "Then what the deuce do you want her to feel?" 
 Mr. Maxwell's patience gave way. "If she isn't to be 
 obliged to you, and you decline to be obliged to her, 
 how does the matter stand?" 
 
 "It stands, so far as I'm concerned, on a strict 
 business basis," Bernard replied — "or no" (he caught 
 himself up), "that's not true, except in a limited sense. 
 It wasn't as a business proposition that I agreed to 
 remain, but because I saw that she was very anxious 
 for me to do so ; and I thought it would relieve her mind, 
 while at the same time I could help her more than she 
 knew. I had a comfortable sense of conferring a benefit — 
 you're quite right about that, — and there's really no 
 
 [9i] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 reason why I should object to her having the same 
 feeling." 
 
 "Only she hasn't anything of the kind. On the 
 contrary, she is very grateful to you, and quite appre- 
 ciates the sacrifice you're making by staying. So don't 
 go and spoil a fine act by any ill-judged display of 
 pride." 
 
 Bernard's handsome dark eyes had a light of 
 amusement in them as he looked at the older man. 
 
 "You'd make a good father confessor," he said, 
 "since it's the business of a father confessor to get at 
 the root of motives and to make one feel small. Well, 
 it's settled, then, that for the present things are to go 
 on as they are. That's what I came in to tell you, 
 though we've taken some time to get to the point. 
 But you must understand, and I hope Miss Trezevant 
 understands, that it's a purely temporary arrange- 
 ment." 
 
 "Oh, yes, she understands clearly enough! But 
 I hope it may prove more enduring than you expect." 
 
 A significance he had not intended crept into the 
 speaker's tone, and brought a change to Bernard 
 Chisholm's face and manner. A distinct shade of 
 reserve came over both as he rose. 
 
 "There's not the least probability of that," he 
 replied. "As I've explained, I've consented to remain 
 for only a time — until Miss Trezevant learns how to 
 fit into her place; and then I shall go. Meanwhile 
 you'd better be looking out for some one to take my 
 position." 
 
 A moment later he had left the office; and as Mr. 
 Maxwell sat staring after his retreating figure, he 
 seemed to hear Honora's wistful words: "I want 
 
 [92] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 him to stay because this is his place, and he must not 
 lose touch with it." 
 
 The lawyer shook his head. 
 
 "It'll be hard work to keep him," he muttered 
 aloud, "unless — unless — and I doubt if that's possible." 
 
 I 93) 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 JULIAN PAGE had been entirely accurate in saying 
 that Kingsford was on tiptoe with eagerness to 
 see and welcome the young heiress and her 
 sister, who were spoken of by their old friends and 
 relatives as "the Trezevant girls." During the next 
 few days, therefore, society swept down in force upon 
 them; and they did little else than receive a succession 
 of visitors, renew hereditary friendships, form new 
 acquaintances, and endeavor to assimilate as far as 
 possible the impressions made upon them by the new 
 life in which they found themselves. 
 
 Many of these impressions were, to Honora at 
 least, very surprising; for she found that the material 
 changes she had already observed in Kingsford were 
 only outward indications of deeper changes in the 
 spirit of the place. The great wave of what is known 
 as "industrial development," which during the last 
 two decades had been felt more or less over the entire 
 South, had, owing to its situation, struck Kingsford 
 with particular force; and a prosperity had resulted 
 which piled up other fortunes besides that of Mr. 
 Chisholm, brought in a new element, and inaugurated 
 an era of social extravagance and ostentation wholly 
 foreign to the spirit of the place as she remembered it. 
 
 "Oh, yes, my dear," "Cousin Mary Page" told 
 her on their first meeting, "you've come back to a 
 
 [94] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 changed Kingsford! Improved, people call it; but to 
 my mind there's quite as much deterioration as improve- 
 ment. All these manufacturers have brought a great 
 deal of money, but money isn't always a blessing to 
 a place any more than to a person: one must know 
 how to use it wisely, and these new people don't know. 
 So society has undergone a great change for the worse. 
 You see, we of the old order are of very little importance 
 now unless we happen to possess money, which most 
 of us don't possess; and therefore we're all delighted — 
 though I must confess we were also much surprised — 
 that Cousin Alex left his fortune to you; and we are 
 hoping many things from you." 
 
 "What kind of things?" Honora asked. "I had 
 better know, so as not to disappoint you." 
 
 "Well, we hope you'll take the social leadership to 
 which you're entitled from your birth and position, 
 and give a better tone to society than it has now." 
 
 "I'm afraid mother expects the impossible of you," 
 Alicia Page, a pretty, dark-eyed girl, who was sitting 
 by, said laughingly. "She thinks that so powerful a 
 combination as old family and money and — er — youth 
 and beauty should be able to work wonders, as of 
 course it can, but not exactly the wonders she's thinking 
 of. What she doesn't realize is that the change is in 
 the new generation as much as in the new order of 
 things." 
 
 "J realize it," Cecily remarked suddenly; "and 
 I don't see why one should want to stand still, and 
 not move with the world. Changes must come. The 
 whole world is changing, and why shouldn't Kingsford 
 change with it? Of course there must be a great deal 
 of crudity and vulgarity about all this new money, 
 
 [95] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 and the new people who have made it; but that is 
 better than poverty and stagnation; and it may be 
 possible to lead them into better ways." 
 
 Mrs. Page — who, being of an ample and handsome 
 presence, sat as if enthroned in a large, golden-backed 
 chair — turned a not altogether approving eye on the 
 speaker. 
 
 "That is what I have suggested," she said, — "that 
 they should be led into better ways." 
 
 "But modern ways, not the old ways," Cecily 
 explained. "What is out of date is always undesirable; 
 for we wouldn't wish to become fossilized, would we?" 
 
 "We might become something very much worse," 
 Mrs. Page replied, with suppressed indignation; for 
 "fossilized" happened to be the offensive term most 
 often applied by the new order to the old. 
 
 "Do you think so?" Cecily opened her beautiful 
 eyes smilingly. "Really, I don't. I should object 
 very much to becoming fossilized. I want to be in 
 the forefront of the modern movement; but I should 
 hold fast to all that is artistically beautiful and 
 dignified in life and manners — " 
 
 "And all that is morally good, I hope?" 
 
 "Oh, I suppose so — only there's such a difference 
 of opinion about what is morally good that it's rather 
 hard to set a standard on that point. We can't afford 
 to be dogmatic any more than to be fossilized, you 
 know." 
 
 "If by that you mean that we can't afford to have 
 any standard of right and wrong," said Mrs. Page, 
 "I must certainly differ with you." 
 
 Cecily's smile was as exasperating in its superiority 
 as its sweetness. 
 
 [96] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "It's because we all differ that we can't be 
 dogmatic without being absurd," she stated. 'That's 
 one of the great differences between the old and the 
 new generation, of which you were speaking," she 
 added, turning to Alicia, who was watching her with 
 bright, amused eyes. "The old generation accepted 
 certain dogmas, which they never questioned; but 
 the new generation do not accept anything without 
 question; and after you've questioned — well, there 
 isn't much left to accept, you know." 
 
 "Not even revealed religion?" Mrs. Page inquired 
 sternly. 
 
 "Revealed religion least of all," Cecily replied 
 calmly. "The only people who have a right to be 
 dogmatic on that point are those whom Bernard 
 Chisholm has joined. We of the new generation know 
 that very well." 
 
 The heresy thus boldly enunciated was for the 
 moment lost sight of in the thrill which the abrupt 
 introduction of Bernard Chisholm's name brought to 
 every member of the group. Mrs. Page glanced quickly 
 at Honora. 
 
 " I believe you've met Bernard," she said. "Although 
 he's acted so foolishly, we are all very sorry for him. 
 I'm sure you understand how that is, though we are 
 so delighted to have you here." 
 
 "I understand perfectly," Honora assured her. "I 
 have felt very sorry for him myself; but it is not 
 easy to be sorry for him after one has seen him." 
 
 "He takes it beautifully, doesn't he?" Alicia Page 
 said eagerly. "I think it's perfectly wonderful, his 
 attitude. He won't accept sympathy — I mean he 
 won't admit that he stands in any need of it,— and 
 
 [97] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 he won't listen to a word of blame of Cousin Alex, who, 
 / think, was neither more nor less than a wretched old 
 bigot." 
 
 "Alicia!" Her mother's contralto voice held a 
 tone of rebuke. "You shouldn't speak in that manner 
 of Cousin Alex, who was perfectly conscientious in 
 what he did, as Bernard himself would be the first 
 to tell you." 
 
 "Oh, Bernard! — I've no patience with him on that 
 point," Alicia declared. "He's what I call positively 
 maudlin about it." 
 
 Cecily laughed. "One would like to stiffen him up, 
 and make him own that he's been abominably treated," 
 she said. "But somehow one can't believe that he's 
 exactly posing — " 
 
 "Posing!" Alicia was indignant at the suggestion. 
 "He wouldn't know how to pose. You don't know 
 Bernard if you think so." 
 
 "I've just said that I don't think so," Cecily replied. 
 "I tried to draw him out on the subject, but he 
 wouldn't be drawn; only looked at me, and laughed, 
 and said that I couldn't expect him to find fault with 
 a situation which provided so appropriate a setting 
 for — er — us." 
 
 "It is appropriate," Alicia agreed, as her bright 
 eyes — out of which the amusement had vanished — 
 regarded the speaker, who seemed perfectly at home 
 in the beautiful, rose-hung drawing-room. 
 
 "It's no wonder that Julian raved so about her," 
 she remarked a little later, as her mother and herself 
 drove away in their old-fashioned carriage — for the 
 Pages were of those whom the new prosperity had 
 not touched. "She's the loveliest creature I almost 
 
 [98] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 ever saw — but I don't think I'm going to like her 
 very much." 
 
 "She's pretty enough," Mrs. Page conceded. "But 
 I've never seen a worse example of the new order of 
 young people: vain, conceited, self-sufficient, and I'm 
 quite sure as selfish as she is ill-mannered. Now, 
 Honora is very different. But evidently the younger 
 sister is the one who rules. It's clear that she has 
 been spoiled to death." 
 
 "Not to death," Alicia laughed; "for she is very, 
 very much alive, as I think Kingsford will soon 
 learn." 
 
 And Alicia was right in her forecast. Kingsford 
 indeed soon learned that the younger Miss Trezevant 
 was very much alive. Her beauty, her style, her 
 cleverness, the note of modernity in all she did and 
 said — though a modernity largely tempered with 
 disdain for all that was extreme or in bad taste, — and 
 the fascination which emanated from her, took society 
 by storm. As was more graphically than elegantly 
 expressed by those who were slightly sardonic observers 
 of social activities which they did not share, people 
 "fell over each other" in their efforts to secure her 
 presence at their various entertainments; and, since 
 she was more than a little difficult on this point, the 
 hostess who could announce Miss Cecily Trezevant 
 as a guest at bridge party, luncheon, or club meeting, 
 scored a triumph which no one disputed. 
 
 Meanwhile the elder Miss Trezevant — "the real 
 heiress," as she was sometimes spoken of — was rather 
 an enigma to Kingsford. She was very quiet, according 
 to the general consensus of opinion among those who 
 
 [99] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 had met her; and very "reserved," which meant that 
 she listened more than she spoke, and that she told 
 nothing of her plans and intentions with regard to 
 the fortune which had so unexpectedly come to her. 
 Kingsford was consumed with curiosity to know what 
 she intended to do, how she would manage the large 
 interests which had passed into her hands, and how 
 far she might be counted upon as a factor in social 
 matters. But those who had ventured to sound her 
 on these matters found her absolutely uncommuni- 
 cative. That a girl lifted so suddenly out of poverty, 
 and in such dramatic fashion given the control of 
 great wealth, should have been excited, should even 
 have had her head turned by the fairy-tale-like change 
 of circumstances, and the sense of power which the 
 possession of money brings, would have been readily 
 understood, and was perhaps expected. But no one 
 could for a moment think that Honora was excited 
 by her new prosperity or that her head was in any 
 degree turned. "She might have come into it in 
 the most natural way possible, from the manner in 
 which she takes it," people said in mingled won- 
 der and disappointment; for the world does not 
 like to miss an expected sensation, and there was 
 no sensation whatever to be derived from Honora's 
 attitude. 
 
 And, then, there was Bernard Chisholm, who was 
 also provokingly incomprehensible. Kingsford had 
 long since declared that it did not understand him; 
 and it understood him less than ever when it heard 
 that he had agreed to retain the management of the 
 business of the estate he had forfeited. "He is doing 
 it to help and oblige Honora," Cecily airily explained, 
 
 [ ioo] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 for Honora explained nothing. But this rather deep- 
 ened than dissipated the mystery; for why, people 
 asked, should he wish to help and oblige Honora, who 
 had inherited the fortune that should have been his? 
 As might be supposed, the first explanation to occur 
 to those who did not know him very well was that 
 he proposed to regain what he had lost by the road of 
 matrimony. "He'll make himself indispensable to her, 
 and end by marrying her. Odd that old Mr. Chisholm 
 didn't anticipate that," was sapiently remarked by 
 many. But Bernard Chisholm's friends made no such 
 mistake. 
 
 "What does he mean by it?" Julian Page said to 
 a lady who questioned him. "You might answer that 
 question yourself. Of course it's just his confounded 
 altruism." 
 
 The lady, who was Mrs. Robert Selwyn — formerly 
 Edith Creighton, — nodded comprehendingly. 
 
 "I thought as much," she said. "But people in 
 general are quite sure that he has a motive which is 
 very far from altruistic." 
 
 Julian shrugged his shoulders in the foreign fashion 
 he had acquired during his residence abroad. 
 
 'When do people ever fail to draw such conclu- 
 sions?" he asked. 
 
 "But there's really some reason for it in this case," 
 Mrs. Selwyn remarked judicially. "Almost anybody 
 who didn't know him very well would think the motive 
 was obvious. The world doesn't believe much in 
 altruism, you know." 
 
 "Anybody with sense ought to find it possible 
 to believe that, or any other absurdity of Bernard 
 Chisholm," Julian declared. "The manner in which 
 
 Jioi] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 he threw away a fortune should make anything else 
 he may do easy of belief." 
 
 "On the contrary, the average person is convinced 
 that he must by this time be sorely repenting the 
 sacrifice he made, and that he has grasped an easy 
 way of regaining what he lost." 
 
 "Just the acute and charitable judgment one 
 would expect from the average person," the young 
 man commented. "Bernard's motives are as far 
 beyond his or her comprehension as — well, as they 
 are beyond mine, except that I know he is sincere 
 in what he says of them." 
 
 "What does he say? I frankly confess that I'm 
 as curious as everybody else about him; and this 
 new development is extremely interesting." 
 
 "It's as simple as can be, from his point of view. 
 He has agreed to remain in charge of the business 
 for the present, because Miss Trezevant begged him 
 to do so, appealing to him to help her in bearing a 
 responsibility that his action threw upon her. He 
 told me, after our first visit, that he had been unable 
 to refuse when she made that plea." 
 
 Edith Selwyn's eyes filled with a light of mingled 
 amazement and laughter. 
 
 "Think of her making such a plea, and of his 
 finding it irresistible!" she exclaimed. "They must 
 be well matched in oddity. What kind of person is 
 she really?" 
 
 "Very attractive indeed — simple, direct, and with 
 something quite charming about her. But is it 
 possible you haven't met her yet?" 
 
 "Not yet, I'm sorry to say; for I'm extremely 
 anxious to meet her. But she wasn't at home the 
 
 [ 1 02 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 day I called — had gone to visit some of her factories, 
 I believe, — and I saw only the younger sister." 
 
 "Ah! And what did you think of her?" 
 
 "What could I think except that she is a striking 
 beauty, as all Kingsford agrees, and extremely well 
 aware of the fact?" 
 
 Julian's foreign lift of the shoulders came into 
 play again. 
 
 "What beautiful woman isn't aware of her beauty 
 and of the power it gives?" he inquired. "And if 
 Cecily Trezevant makes no pretense of not being 
 aware of it, that's because she is as clever as she's 
 beautiful, and she knows the futility of such pretenses." 
 
 "She's clever certainly," Mrs. Selwyn acknowledged, 
 "and very much aware of that also. But she's quite 
 fascinating — and I don't wonder in the least that 
 you've been bowled over completely, as I hear you 
 have been." 
 
 "Oh, you've heard that, have you?" 
 
 "My dear boy, everybody has heard it, and nobody 
 is surprised. If there ever was a subject for an artist's 
 adoration, Cecily Trezevant is that subject. I'm told 
 you are painting her portrait, and I'm sure you'll 
 make something wonderfully good of it." 
 
 "I wish I were sure of it!" Julian groaned. "She 
 may be a subject for an artist's adoration, but I can 
 tell you she's an awfully hard subject for an artist's 
 brush. You wouldn't believe how many different 
 aspects she has, and she torments me by constantly 
 showing a new one, so that I spend my time painting 
 out what I've already put in." 
 
 "What does she think of that?" 
 
 "It evidently affords her much amusement. You 
 
 [ 103 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 see, she's no stranger to painters and their ways. She 
 was in the studios a great deal in New York, dabbled 
 in art herself, and sat for artists frequently." 
 
 "Has she artistic talent?" 
 
 Again Julian shrugged. 
 
 "Hardly talent," he said, "but much clever 
 facility, and a cultivated taste." He paused a moment. 
 "I should say that her chief talent was for enjoyment 
 of life," he added then. "She's alive to her finger-tips, 
 and thrilling with all the possibilities that life holds 
 for her. I've never seen any one more intoxicated with 
 the sense of existence." 
 
 "And the possession of the Chisholm fortune, no 
 doubt." 
 
 "Because the Chisholm fortune opens the doors 
 of life to her, yes. Up to the present time, she's been 
 like a bird beating her wings against the bars of a cage. 
 And now the door of the cage is open, and the world 
 is all before her." 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn threw a curious look at him. 
 
 "And where do you expect to come in?" she asked. 
 
 "Not anywhere," he answered frankly. "She 
 doesn't give me a thought, beyond the fact that I 
 amuse her at the present moment, and we have a 
 great deal in common." 
 
 "It must count in your favor that there's nobody 
 else here who possibly interests her at all." 
 
 "I can't flatter myself that that's the case. There's 
 one person who interests her more than I do, and 
 that's Bernard Chisholm." 
 
 "Bernard Chisholm!" Edith opened wide eyes. 
 "Why, I can't imagine two people more unlike than 
 they must be." 
 
 [ 104] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "And have you never heard of the attraction of 
 unlikeness?" Julian asked. "He's such a new type 
 to her that I think she is interested through curiosity. 
 And, then, Bernard's a tremendously likable chap, 
 you know." 
 
 "Of course I know. He's more than likable: he's 
 what I call lovable; but I should not think he would 
 attract a girl like Cecily Trezevant, nor that she would 
 attract him. You see, he has done such an over- 
 whelmingly unworldly thing; and I can well believe 
 that she is, as you say, madly in love with the world." 
 
 "I don't know that she does attract him further 
 than that he must admire her beauty and recognize 
 her charm," Julian explained. "We haven't discussed 
 the subject at all; but in my opinion it would take an 
 anchorite to resist Cecily Trezevant when she lays 
 herself out to fascinate — and I'm not sure of the 
 anchorite." 
 
 "Naturally you wouldn't be," Edith laughed. 
 "Well, this opens a new view of the situation, and I 
 am immensely interested in it. Really it begins to look 
 as if old Mr. Chisholm had kindly provided some 
 very dramatic elements for our entertainment. There 
 isn't anything in the will to prevent Honora from 
 giving half her fortune to Cecily if she married Bernard, 
 is there?" 
 
 "Nothing that I'm aware of," Julian replied; "but 
 a good deal in the parties concerned to prevent it, 
 unless I'm vastly mistaken." 
 
 "You're too much interested for your opinion to 
 be of much value," Edith mocked. "I prefer to trust 
 my own powers of observation, and I shall proceed 
 to cultivate the Trezevant sisters with a new zest." 
 
 [105] 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HONOR A, why aren't you ready? Have you 
 forgotten that you promised to go out with 
 me this morning?" 
 
 Cecily's voice was sharp with impatience as she 
 entered the room where Honora, pen in hand, was 
 sitting at an open desk, a page covered with writing 
 and figures before her. She turned hastily and 
 apologetically. 
 
 "Oh, I am sorry!" she said. "But I had forgotten 
 completely. And now you must excuse me, for I am 
 very busy — ' ' 
 
 "Busy!" Cecily echoed the word in a tone of 
 intense disgust. "I thought that was one thing you 
 were done with — being busy, and giving up things 
 you want to do for such stuff as that!" 
 
 She pointed disdainfully to the business-like sheet 
 on the desk; and as Honora looked at her she thought 
 not so much of her words as of how pretty she was 
 in a charming costume of silvery gray, with a picture 
 hat, covered with plumes, shading her lovely face 
 and splendid masses of hair. 
 
 "I've never imagined that I was done with being 
 busv," Honora said. "How could I be when there's so 
 much business connected with this large estate?" 
 
 "But there are other people to attend to it — people 
 employed and paid for that purpose, — so why should 
 
 [ 106] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 you make a slave of yourself?" Cecily demanded. 
 "What's the good of having the fortune if it doesn't 
 set you free to do what you like?" 
 
 "How can one ever be free to do exactly what 
 one likes?" her sister asked. "There are always duties 
 that must come first — " 
 
 "That," Cecily interrupted, "is nonsense, and at 
 present simply an excuse to be disobliging. There's 
 nothing to compel you to sit over those stupid accounts, 
 or whatever they are, this lovely day, instead of coming 
 out with me." 
 
 "But there really is something," Honora insisted. 
 "I have an appointment with Bernard Chisholm this 
 morning. We are to settle about some improvements 
 to be made in the factories. So you see, although I'm 
 sorry to be disobliging, I can't go out with you." 
 
 "If Bernard Chisholm is coming and you promised 
 to be in, I suppose you can't very well go out," Cecily 
 grudgingly admitted. "But you should have remem- 
 bered your promise to me before you made the 
 appointment. I particularly wanted you to see my 
 portrait this morning. Julian has had an awful time 
 over it, but I think he has really got something very 
 good at last." 
 
 'Then it must have changed amazingly since I 
 saw it," Honora remarked. "It wasn't the least like 
 you then." 
 
 "That's the reason I wanted you to see it to-day — 
 to judge of the likeness now. It's very provoking, your 
 disappointing me this way. And Mrs. Selwyn is 
 coming to see it, too." 
 
 "Well, you'll be there, and the portrait; so I 
 don't see that I am at all necessary," Honora laughed. 
 
 [ 107 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Not if you don't take any interest in my picture — " 
 Cecily began. 
 
 'You know that I take the keenest interest," 
 Honora interposed. "But I've seen a great many 
 portraits of you, and this one didn't seem to promise 
 very much." 
 
 "Don't take the trouble to apologize." Cecily 
 began to put on her gloves with rather an aloof air. 
 "Of course I understand that the factories are much 
 more interesting; and the fact is that you haven't 
 thrown off the yoke of the business drudge yet, and 
 I don't believe that you ever will." 
 
 "Give me a little more time, and perhaps I may," 
 Honora smiled whimsically. "At all events, it's the 
 greatest possible pleasure to me that you are free from 
 any necessity to drudge, that you can go out into 
 the sunshine and enjoy yourself like — " 
 
 "Any other butterfly." It was Cecily's turn to laugh 
 now, and in the laughter her vexation evaporated. 
 She stooped and dropped a light kiss on her sister's 
 cheek. "Dear old thing!" she said affectionately. 
 "As if I didn't know that you like nothing so much 
 as to see me arrayed like the lilies of the field, and, 
 in common phrase, 'having a good time'! But I'm 
 determined that you shall have a good time, too; 
 so you may just take warning. I won't allow anything 
 like this to happen again. If you've promised to go 
 out with me, you shall go, whether the factories are 
 in the way or not. And as for Bernard Chisholm — " 
 
 "What are you going to do with him?" a voice 
 behind her asked. 
 
 Cecily wheeled around, to face the young man who 
 at that moment had been shown into the room, and 
 
 [108] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 who advanced with outstretched hand and amused 
 eyes. 
 
 "If it's to be anything very dreadful, let the blow 
 fall at once," he pleaded. "I've a great objection to 
 suspense." 
 
 "You shall be forced to leave drudgery, and be 
 carried off to idle also," the girl told him severely. 
 "I've just been quarrelling with Honora because she 
 promised to go out with me this morning, and now 
 she informs me that she can't go because she has an 
 appointment with you about some wretched factory 
 improvements." 
 
 "Oh, but really that can wait!" Bernard said, 
 turning quickly to Honora. "There's no immediate 
 need of haste; and I can come any other time, if you 
 prefer to go out to-day." 
 
 "But I don't prefer to do so," Honora answered. 
 "Cecily says that I haven't thrown off the yoke of a 
 business drudge yet. And perhaps she's right; for 
 I couldn't think of neglecting something that ought 
 to be done, for mere amusement — not to speak of 
 sending you away, after you've been so kind as to come 
 for a special purpose." 
 
 "That wouldn't matter, I assure you." 
 
 "It would matter very much to me; so we will 
 not discuss it, please. And, Cecily, if the car is waiting, 
 hadn't you better go?" 
 
 "Being dismissed, perhaps I had," Cecily replied, 
 as she met Bernard's laughing eyes,- — eyes which told 
 her that he also was admiring her beauty. "Come 
 and look at our new limousine," she bade him. 
 "Honora can spare you for a few minutes from the 
 factory improvements." 
 
 [ 109] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I have already seen the limousine, but I shall 
 have pleasure in seeing you in it," he told her, as they 
 went out together to where a handsomely appointed 
 ear, with liveried chauffeur, was awaiting her. "It 
 is of the latest and most approved model," he said, 
 running an appreciative eye over the lines. "I hope 
 you like it." 
 
 "I adore it!" she declared. "I don't know anything 
 that gives one a keener sense of the ease and power 
 of wealth. How often I've looked at women in such 
 cars, as they were borne along so swiftly and luxuri- 
 ouslv, and envied them — are you surprised?" She 
 broke off as she caught his glance. "But of course I 
 envied them. One must desire the beautiful and 
 luxurious things of life if one hasn't got them. It is 
 sheer hypocrisy to pretend otherwise." 
 
 "There are some people to whom they are so appro- 
 priate that one must be very glad when they have 
 obtained them," he said, regarding the charming 
 picture she made, after he had placed her in the car 
 and closed the door. 
 
 But she flushed a little as she looked up at him. 
 
 "You are always saying things like that to me," 
 she exclaimed; "and, kind as they sound, I'm not 
 at all sure that they are flattering. Just now I think 
 you don't want to tell me that you consider me a 
 very poor creature, to care so much for wealth, and all 
 that wealth can buy, as I frankly confess that I do." 
 
 "But, good heavens!" he protested, "why should 
 you imagine that I want to tell you anything of the 
 kind? I've never for a moment thought you a poor 
 creature for having desires that are altogether natural 
 in one so young and so — " 
 
 [no] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Ornamental," she supplied, as he hesitated. "Yes, 
 I am ornamental and rather frivolous, I know; but 
 I can't help wondering whether you wouldn't have 
 felt as I did, if you had been in my place." 
 
 "Very likely I should," he admitted. 
 
 "And I also wonder," she went on, "whether you 
 could have given up what you have, if you had ever 
 known what poverty really is." A shadow came into 
 the beautiful eyes looking at him. "It is like being 
 starved, — starved in every faculty of one's being," 
 she said with an intensity that seemed born of bitter 
 memories. "If you could realize this, you'd pardon 
 my enjoyment of the good fortune that has come to 
 us, even though it came through your loss." 
 
 "But I've nothing to pardon," he assured her. 
 "On the contrary, I am absolutely sincere in telling 
 you that it is a pleasure to witness your enjoyment, 
 and you mustn't grudge me a little satisfaction in 
 thinking that I have had a small share in putting you 
 where you so clearly belong." 
 
 "You are certainly a remarkable person," she said. 
 "'A little satisfaction' and 'a small share,' when it's 
 owing to you, and to you alone, that I'm in these 
 happy conditions, limousine and all, instead of still 
 eating my heart out with discontent and envy in New 
 York— " 
 
 "Oh, no," he interposed quickly, "you don't owe 
 the change to me, except in a very indirect way! You 
 mustn't forget that it was my uncle's unprompted act 
 to make your sister his heiress." 
 
 "I wonder why he did?" she murmured. "I've won- 
 dered from the first. It was such a very strange thing 
 to do — to select a girl whom he didn't even know." 
 
 [in] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "He knew certain things about her which appealed 
 to him strongly." 
 
 "That hardly explains his putting so much power 
 in her hands. I don't mean that he made a mistake 
 in doing so," she added hastily. "So far from that, 
 I don't believe he could have found a safer and more 
 conscientious heir for his fortune. But the point is 
 that he didn't know this." 
 
 "He divined it, then. And I agree with you that 
 he made no mistake." 
 
 "Not from his point of view, and certainly not from 
 mine," she assented. "But, so far as Honora is con- 
 cerned, I'm afraid that she's in danger of taking the 
 thing in entirely too conscientious a spirit. She 
 doesn't seem able to realize that the fortune is hers, 
 to enjoy and do what she will with: her attitude is 
 that of one who has been charged with a responsibility 
 which she must painstakingly fulfil. Now, there's 
 not much gained for her by the inheritance if she is 
 going to make herself a slave and drudge to the 
 business; and she shouldn't be encouraged in doing 
 so." 
 
 "I hope you don't think that I encourage her in 
 such deplorable industry?" 
 
 "Perhaps not, but I want you to discourage her 
 as far as possible. Here's an example of what I mean 
 this morning. Instead of coming out with me to see 
 my portrait, meet pleasant people, and be amused, 
 she stays in to discuss factory improvements with 
 you." 
 
 "But I'm really not to blame, since she asked 
 me — 
 
 "Of course she asked you, and I'm not blaming 
 
 [112] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 you at all. But you must see that it's unnecessary for 
 her to be worrying over business details like this; 
 so pray discourage her as much as you can. And now 
 you'd better go back, or she will think that I have 
 carried you off, as I threatened. I won't ask you if 
 you would like to go, since you can't. So good-bye!" 
 
 She nodded gaily, and the next moment he stood 
 watching the luxurious car as it glided away, with a 
 smile which Cecily would hardly have understood if 
 she had seen it. 
 
 The smile was still on his lips and in his eyes when 
 he re-entered the room where Honora was waiting 
 for him; and she, too, smiled sympathetically as she 
 looked at him. 
 
 "Cecily has evidently amused you," she said. 
 
 "She always amuses me," he answered frankly; 
 "she is so outspoken in all that she thinks or desires. 
 Just now she has been confiding to me her fears about 
 you." 
 
 "And what does she fear about me?" 
 
 "Don't you know? That you are taking your 
 inheritance too seriously; that you are not enjoying 
 it as you should, but are making yourself a slave and 
 drudge — those were her expressions — to the business." 
 
 "But I am not doing anything of the kind," Honora 
 said quietly. "Cecily simply doesn't understand that 
 there are things in life more important than enjoying 
 oneself. You see, she is so young, and she has been so 
 starved for enjoyment that it is only natural she should 
 be intensely eager for it, and unable to realize that 
 everyone is not so eager as she is." 
 
 cr That was her word — 'starved,'" Bernard said. 
 "But surely you were starved also, and more than 
 
 [113] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 she, since your work was harder, and the burden of 
 responsibility rested on you, unless I am mistaken." 
 
 "But that made it easier instead of harder," Honora 
 answered. "If one's thoughts are absorbed by one's 
 work and one's responsibilities, one hasn't time to 
 long for what one hasn't got. I never even thought 
 of enjoyment: it was a thing too remote from my life." 
 'Then there's all the more reason you should 
 think of it now," he told her with energy. "Upon 
 my soul, I believe your sister is right, and that you 
 need to be stirred to enjoy the freedom and fortune 
 that has come to you, instead of taking up a burden 
 of work with which there's really no need that you 
 should trouble yourself." 
 
 'There's the need that I could not be satisfied 
 otherwise," she said. "I should feel as if I were 
 receiving everything and giving nothing. Besides, I 
 have what Cecily regards as the perverted taste of 
 liking work. It interests me. For instance, I am 
 keenly interested in these improvements in the factories 
 which you have suggested. Shall we decide about them 
 now?" 
 
 "May I say a few words first?" He sat down in 
 a chair beside the desk at which she was seated, and 
 looked at her with a rather deprecating expression in 
 his eyes. "I am afraid," he said, "that I was hasty 
 in suggesting so many improvements. They will require 
 a great deal of money — " 
 
 "But you said that the money was available for 
 the purpose." 
 
 "So it is: but it is the accumulation of the income; 
 and if you devote it to this purpose you can't use it 
 for other purposes, you know." 
 
 [114] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Really" (she laughed a little) "that is quite 
 evident. But why should I want to use it for other 
 purposes?" 
 
 "It's possible that you might," he urged. "You 
 haven't been in this new position long enough to be 
 able to tell what you may or may not wish to do, what 
 need you may have for money. I am quite sure that 
 before deciding to spend so large a sum as the proposed 
 improvements call for you should wait a little." 
 
 "I see that Cecily has been talking to you to some 
 purpose," Honora remarked. "But you are mistaken 
 in thinking that I have not settled what I intend to 
 spend of an income which is much larger than I shall 
 require." 
 
 "You can't possibly be sure of that yet." 
 
 "But I am sure of it." She spoke with decision. 
 "Let me remind you that I have had the advantage 
 of a business training in more ways than one, and 
 that system in the expenditure of money therefore 
 comes easily to me. I know exactly what I shall need 
 to spend of the income, and I shall not exceed that 
 amount." 
 
 "You are certainly taking your inheritance in a 
 Spartan spirit," he commented. "But why limit 
 yourself so severely? And aren't you leaving out of 
 your calculations a young lady who thinks that money 
 is of use only to purchase pleasure?" 
 
 "Cecily has her allowance, which she can spend 
 as she likes," Honora replied. "That has been 
 arranged; and I shall not let her ideas influence my 
 expenditures." 
 
 A gleam of laughter came into Bernard's eyes. 
 
 "I have not had the pleasure of knowing Cecily 
 
 [115] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 very long," he observed, "but I would nevertheless 
 be willing to wager a good deal that her ideas will 
 influence your expenditures more than you count 
 upon. And why not? Why practise an economy for 
 which there is no need? The fortune is yours without 
 restriction, and you are accountable to no one for 
 the manner in which you spend it." 
 
 "I am accountable to my own conscience," she said; 
 "and that tells me that I must avoid extravagance, 
 and administer the estate carefully as — as I'm sure 
 Mr. Chisholm would have wished me to do." 
 
 "You don't seem able to rid yourself of the idea 
 that the estate is still Mr. Chisholm's," Bernard told 
 her. '"Our last robe is made without pockets,' you 
 know; and he has nothing more to do with it." 
 
 "His wishes have a great deal to do with it for 
 me," she answered. "I am anxious that everything 
 shall be done as he would have desired, and that means 
 as you desire." 
 
 "As / desire!" he echoed in surprise. "Why do 
 you say that?" 
 
 "Because I know — everybody knows — that he 
 desired nothing so much as to entrust all his interests 
 to you," she answered. "He had such entire confi- 
 dence in your ability to carry on his work as he wished 
 it carried on; but you disappointed him, and he was 
 obliged to find a substitute. Oh, I don't see how you 
 could have done it!" she broke off reproachfully. 
 "Living here in his house, I feel more and more how 
 hard he must have found it to put a stranger in your 
 place." 
 
 "And don't you feel at all how hard it was to 
 me — to disappoint him?" the young man asked in a 
 
 [116] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 low tone. "It was, I assure you, the hardest thing I 
 was ever called upon to do." 
 
 "But were you called upon to do it?" she 
 questioned. "Shouldn't the human claims of affection 
 and gratitude have made you spare him — made you 
 pause in what you wished to do — or at least wait?" 
 
 "You are not thinking of what you are saying," 
 he told her. "To wait would have been the worst 
 betrayal: it would have been to take by falsity what 
 he would never have given had he known the truth. 
 No : it has to be a clear issue for him to face as well 
 as for me, — a clear choice to be made." 
 
 "But why?" she demanded. "What rendered the 
 compulsion so great? What, after all, were you doing 
 but following your own wishes and fancies?" 
 
 "Is that all that it seems to you?" he asked a 
 little wonderingly. "Do you believe that merely to 
 follow my own wishes and fancies I could have given 
 such disappointment to one to whom I owed so much, 
 not to speak of the other loss involved? I thought — 
 though I had really no right to think anything of the 
 kind — that you would understand better what was 
 involved." 
 
 "No, I don't understand," she confessed. "At first 
 I was struck with admiration of the sacrifice you had 
 made — of all you had given up for the sake of a 
 conviction. It seemed absolutely heroic. You see, I 
 was thinking only of your side of the matter. But 
 since I've been here I've thought more of the other 
 side, — of the old man who cared so much for you, 
 and whom you disappointed so cruelly; and it seems 
 to me now — forgive me, but I must say it!— that 
 there was more selfishness than heroism in your action." 
 
 [117] 
 
< « A lM 
 
 THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 He nodded. "You are quite right," he said. 
 There was more selfishness than heroism in my 
 action; in fact, I am unable to see that there was 
 any heroism at all." 
 
 "Then why — " she began again and paused. 
 
 "Why was I so selfish?" he took up her question. 
 "Why did I think more of following a certain light 
 of conviction which had come to me than of gratifying 
 the wishes and deferring to the prejudices of an old 
 man whose hopes and affections were centred on me? 
 Well, there's only one answer to that. You can't 
 have forgotten who it was that said, ' He that loveth 
 father or mother' or anybody or anything else on 
 earth 'more than Me, is not worthy of Me.'" 
 
 She looked at him with eyes full of curious wonder. 
 
 "No, I haven't forgotten it — at least not alto- 
 gether," she said. "But aren't you straining the 
 application of the words? They can't mean that 
 everything and everybody must be given up when 
 it becomes a question of entering the Catholic Church? 
 It's possible to love Him — outside of that Church." 
 
 "To some people, yes," Bernard conceded. "But 
 there are others to whom it is clearly shown that that 
 is the only way; and — and, you see, there's no choice 
 but to follow the light when it is given, no matter 
 at what cost to oneself or to others." 
 
 "It is a terrible doctrine," she said, shivering a 
 little. "It is not strange that the world has rebelled 
 against it." 
 
 "I don't want to preach to you," he replied, with 
 a smile, "or I might quote something very apposite 
 about the world. But you'll let me say that one who 
 has shown such devotion to high ideals of duty and 
 
 [118] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 such disregard of self as you have in your life ought 
 to be able to understand these things more clearly." 
 
 "Ah, but my devotion has been to human ties, to 
 the duties of human relationship!" she answered. "I 
 have always felt that one must be faithful to these 
 or else one is worthless." 
 
 "You felt rightly," he said; "and, happily, they 
 do not often conflict with a higher duty. But if they 
 do—" 
 
 He paused, and looked around the room in which 
 they sat, as if recalling such a conflict which had once 
 been fought out here. Then, as his eyes came back 
 to meet hers, she seemed to catch a glimpse of what 
 that conflict had cost him. 
 
 "If only one could take all the pain upon oneself," 
 he said, "things would be easy. But human life is 
 inextricably complicated; and to hurt others — those 
 who care for us, and who don't understand — that is 
 something beside which loss of fortune is insignificant." 
 
 "I could never do it!" she declared passionately. 
 "Nothing which concerned myself alone could ever 
 make me do it." 
 
 She was aware that there was something like com- 
 passion in the eyes which still rested on her, and after 
 a moment — 
 
 "I was about to say that I hoped you would never 
 be tried in such a manner," Bernard told her; "but, 
 after all, that would not be to hope the best for you — 
 and I think you are worthy of the best." 
 
 She put up her hands, as if pushing the suggestion 
 away from her. 
 
 "No, no!" she cried. "I am not worthy of what 
 you mean by the best, and — and I hope I may never 
 
 [119] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 be tested in such a way. I should not be able to do 
 what you have done; for I see now that to have given 
 up the fortune was the smallest part of the sacrifice. 
 To wound affection, to disappoint hope — that was 
 hardest; and I beg your pardon for having been so 
 obtuse as not to know it." 
 
 "I am quite sure that you are never obtuse," he 
 told her gently. "But I have talked enough about 
 myself; and now, since you insist upon it, we'll look 
 over the plans and estimates of work to be done in 
 connection with the factories." 
 
 [ 120] 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 AFTER Bernard had taken his departure with 
 the plans — very much reduced — for factory im- 
 provements, Honora remained where he had 
 left her, and, leaning her arms on the desk by which 
 she sat, looked out of an open window over the beautiful 
 gardens, filled with all the glory of the Southern 
 spring, — a glory of leaf and flower, of scented air and 
 sunshine, almost intoxicating to one who had been 
 so long confined within narrow city walls. She drew 
 a deep breath as the fragrance of unnumbered blossom- 
 ing trees and shrubs was borne to her on the soft 
 breeze that entered; but she did not stir from her 
 seat to go out into the alluring paradise of flowers 
 and sunshine which invited her. She was, in fact, 
 too deeply absorbed in her thoughts to think of 
 moving. And these thoughts were not cheerful, as 
 her face plainly showed; for she was facing the 
 realization that she had not made the faintest progress 
 toward fulfilling the wishes of Mr. Chisholm, — those 
 wishes which she felt to be so strongly binding upon 
 her honor and her conscience. She had indeed suc- 
 ceeded in keeping Bernard Chisholm in touch with 
 the interests of the estate that should have been his; 
 but the more she saw of him the more she felt that 
 there was little gained by this, so far as the object she 
 had chiefly in view was concerned. His mental atti- 
 
 [121] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 tude showed no sign of change; and how, she asked 
 herself despairingly, was she to bring about such a 
 change? 
 
 "He has no regret," she told herself. "He has 
 accepted the loss which he has incurred as if he had 
 gained rather than lost, and gained something so 
 great that the loss is not to be compared with it. 
 Now, what is there to work upon in such a spirit as 
 that? And yet the condition on which I am here is 
 that I shall find a way to work upon him. I can't take 
 all that has been given me, and do nothing toward 
 the end for which it was given. But what am I to do? 
 What possible means of influence have I? And how 
 could I dare to use such means if I had them? He is 
 so certain of his belief, and I am certain of nothing 
 except that I am alive, and that love and duty are 
 as much alive as I am." 
 
 She paused and meditated. Certain unforgettable 
 words of the letter she had read many times since 
 she read it first were printed on her memory, and 
 recurred to her now as distinctly as if spoken by 
 another voice: "In return for what I am giving you — 
 large wealth and the power and ease it brings, — / ask 
 that you will make every possible effort to draw Bernard 
 from the errors into which he has fallen. It seems to 
 me that you are pecidiarly fitted to do this." She shook 
 her head here in protest. "Oh, I am not, — indeed 
 I am not!" she said, as if addressing some unseen 
 presence. "I am not fitted at all for such a task. I 
 have no arguments for his mind, if arguments would 
 move him; and — and none of the attractions on 
 which you relied for personal influence. There is 
 nothing less possible than that he would wish to do 
 
 [ 122 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 anything for me — -especially so tremendous a thing as 
 to give up the religion for which he has sacrificed so 
 much. I am, so far as I can see, utterly without 
 power to move him; and yet I am bound in honor to 
 make the effort for the sake of which all this wealth 
 and ease have been given me. But how am I to make 
 it?" 
 
 Again she paused, and again, as if in answer to 
 her questions, the words of the letter came to her 
 mind : ' ' You are a young and, I have reason to believe, 
 attractive woman; you have proved that you possess 
 unusual qualities of character, and more than ordinary 
 good sense. These things will be likely to appeal to him 
 strongly." "But they do not!" she cried again pro- 
 testingly. "Those are not the things that appeal to 
 men. How could you think so? They are moved by 
 beauty, and by the subtle power called charm, of 
 which I have none. Now, Cecily has both; and if he 
 falls in love with her — and it seems as if nothing were 
 more likely, — what am I to do in that case? I am 
 warned that I must not marry him (supposing that 
 he wanted to marry me) until I have 'induced him 
 to renounce Romanism.' But Cecily would not regard 
 such a prohibition, and Cecily is my natural heir. 
 Is it by this means that Bernard is to regain his 
 inheritance? But if he did not renounce his religion, 
 that wouldn't fulfil the condition on which it was 
 given to me." She shook her head in sad perplexity. 
 "It is a difficult situation, and I wish — oh, how I 
 wish there were some one whose advice I could ask, — 
 some one who could tell me what I am or am not 
 conscientiously bound to do! Catholics surely have a 
 great source of relief and help in their confessional; 
 
 [ 123 1 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 but" (whimsically) "that, no doubt, is something of 
 which I'm forbidden even to think." 
 
 She fell into silence then; and as she gazed out 
 over the lovely vistas of the sunshine-flooded, flower- 
 filled pleasance before her, where countless birds were 
 filling the air with their thrilling music, and every- 
 thing breathed of the joy of life, all the youth in her 
 suddenly sprang up and asserted itself. The inalien- 
 able, passionate desire of youth for happiness — that 
 desire so long repressed that she had almost forgotten 
 its existence — stirred in her veins like strong wine. 
 To be happy! — that was surely the supreme thing 
 in life; and it was quite true that she had been starved 
 for it. Never since childhood had she known even 
 a glimmer of happiness until now, — now when fortune 
 was poured upon her in a flood, when the gratification 
 of every wish was within her reach; and the only 
 drawback was a qualm of conscience over the im- 
 possible condition made by an old man who was dead. 
 After all, was it not folly to think so much of that 
 condition, — to feel as if the fortune were not really 
 her own, but only to be held in trust for its rightful 
 heir? The rightful heir had, however, forfeited it by 
 his deliberate choice, — he was insistent upon that. 
 And, since there seemed no possibility of inducing 
 him to reconsider that choice, was it not the part of 
 wisdom to put thoughts of the kind away, and, as 
 Cecily constantly urged, take all that had been so 
 lavishly given, and enjoy the wide, wonderful world 
 to which wealth furnished the key? 
 
 It was as she asked these questions that she became 
 aware of the presence of a servant at her elbow, holding 
 out a silver tray on which lay a card. Taking it up, 
 
 [124] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 she found a name unknown to her — "Miss Raines- 
 ford," — and a glance of "interrogation at the maid 
 elicited only the information, "An elderly lady, 
 ma'am." 
 
 Honora rose reluctantly; but there seemed no 
 particular reason for excusing herself, although the 
 hour was early for calling: rather a special motive for 
 courtesy, since the visitor was an elderly lady, and 
 she had been trained in the old-fashioned belief that 
 there is a deference due from youth to age. She was 
 glad that she had followed this impulse when she 
 entered the drawing-room, where one of the most 
 attractive-looking women she had ever seen came 
 forward to meet her. Elderly, yes,— there could be 
 no doubt of that. But how charming in the refined 
 grace of her person and bearing, and in the mingled 
 brightness and sweetness of her delicately chiselled 
 face, from which the gray hair was rolled softly back, 
 and out of which looked dark-lashed eyes of violet- 
 blue! She held out a perfectly gloved hand, as she 
 said in a voice full of melodious intonations: 
 
 "My dear Miss Trezevant, I am so glad to meet 
 you! And I trust you'll excuse me for calling at so 
 unfashionable an hour. But I met Bernard Chisholm 
 a little while ago, and he encouraged me to come, 
 saying that you were at home, and probably disengaged." 
 
 "Altogether disengaged," Honora assured her; adding 
 with a smile: "It was kind of Bernard to encourage 
 3 r ou to come; for he knew I was alone." 
 
 "So he said. And I felt the opportunity was not 
 to be lost; for I've been wanting to find you alone. 
 Not that I have anything important or mysterious 
 to say ; but simply because I have a desire to know you, 
 
 [125] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 and one can't know people whom one meets in a 
 crowd. And sometimes even three is a crowd." 
 
 "Isn't there a popular saying to that effect?" 
 Honora laughed. "I understand what you mean. 
 One can know people in any real sense only when one 
 sits down to talk to them alone." 
 
 "As we are sitting now," Miss Rainesford agreed 
 in a tone of satisfaction. "This is what I have been 
 waiting for, and I consider my meeting with Bernard 
 this morning a very lucky chance. Perhaps you 
 wonder why I have been so anxious to know you," 
 she went on, after a slight pause. "It hasn't, I assure 
 you, been merely from curiosity, because you have 
 suddenly and romantically come into possession of a 
 fortune which you could never have expected to 
 inherit — ■" » 
 
 "Not more than I expected to be called to mount 
 one of the thrones of Europe," Honora assented. 
 
 "It has really been," Miss Rainesford continued, 
 "because I've been interested by all that I've heard 
 of you, and particularly by what I've heard from 
 Bernard Chisholm. You see, I know him very well, 
 and I must congratulate you on the fact that your 
 relations with him are so friendly." 
 
 "How could they be anything else?" Honora asked. 
 "He seems to be a person with whom it would be 
 impossible to have other than friendly relations. And 
 in my case there's every reason why they should be 
 more than friendly. I have so much that should be 
 his, you know." 
 
 "I'm quite sure that he doesn't think so — that it 
 should be his, I mean," Miss Rainesford said quickly. 
 "He gave it up in the most complete sense when he 
 
 [ 126] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 made his choice; and there's not a doubt but that 
 he is glad, very glad, that you have gained what he 
 has lost. He thinks very highly of you; in fact, he's 
 absolutely enthusiastic about the way in which you 
 have taken up your new responsibilities. ' It's amazing 
 how things have fallen out,' he said to me the other 
 day. 'I believe that Miss Trezevant will do all that I 
 could have hoped to do with the estate and the people 
 connected with it.'" 
 
 "Oh, it's kind of him to speak like that, — very 
 kind!" Honora exclaimed. "But the truth is that I 
 should not be able to do anything without him; and 
 the only merit I have in the matter is that of carrying 
 out his ideas and following his suggestions." 
 
 "But don't you see how admirable and remarkable 
 it is of you to do that?" Miss Rainesford asked. "It 
 is what has made me want to know you — your atti- 
 tude toward Bernard. There are so few young girls 
 whose heads would not have been completely turned 
 by such power and wealth unexpectedly given; and 
 who would not think chiefly of the possibilities of 
 enjoyment which are opened, rather than of duties to 
 be fulfilled." 
 
 'You must not give me too much credit for that," 
 Honora told her. "I have had a training which made 
 it easy for me to think of duties; indeed, I have never, 
 since I was fifteen, been free to think of anything else." 
 
 There was a very kindly light in the violet eyes 
 that rested on her. 
 
 "Perhaps you'll not understand me if I say that 
 you have been fortunate to have been trained so 
 well," Miss Rainesford remarked. "But the training 
 doesn't detract in the least from your merit, as you 
 
 [ 127 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 seem to think. My dear, don't you know that there 
 are people — oceans of them — who couldn't be trained 
 to think of duty before anything else?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Honora was obliged to confess. "I 
 know that there are such people. But, so far as I am 
 concerned, you mustn't make a mistake. I simply 
 couldn't have done anything else but what I did." 
 
 "Being what you are, probably not. But if you 
 had been a different person, you would speedily have 
 decided that your first duty was to yourself, and that 
 you would not sacrifice your life to others. That's 
 the modern creed." 
 
 "Yes," Honora assented again, while involuntarily 
 her thoughts turned to Cecily. How impossible it 
 was to imagine Cecily sacrificing herself for anything 
 or anybody! "But since I wasn't a different person, 
 it comes to the same point, that I don't deserve com- 
 mendation for what I couldn't help doing," she pro- 
 tested. "To obtain merit, there must have been 
 struggle, mustn't there?" 
 
 There was keenness as well as kindness in the 
 eyes that looked at her now. 
 
 "I fancy there may have been more than you 
 think," Miss Rainesford said. "But if there were 
 struggles you'd come out right. I'm sure of that, and 
 so is Bernard." 
 
 "Is he?" Honora felt herself flushing a little. "That 
 is very good of him, but please don't let us talk any 
 more about me. Let us talk a little of him instead. 
 I have been wanting some one to interpret him for 
 me, and I feel as if you may be able to do so." 
 
 "What interpretation do you want?" Miss Raines- 
 ford asked. 
 
 [128] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Well" — Honora hesitated for a moment, — "I 
 should like to understand if possible some things about 
 him that appear very contradictory. He seems so 
 entirely a normal young man, full of interest in life, 
 gay and pleasant, keen about business, and not averse 
 to pleasure; and yet he has done a thing which is 
 abnormal: he has made a sacrifice which one would 
 expect only from a religious fanatic, and he isn't a 
 fanatic." 
 
 Miss Rainesford shook her head smilingly. 
 
 "He is certainly not a fanatic," she said; "but I 
 don't wonder that what he has done puzzles you as 
 it puzzles others." She paused for an instant. "It 
 isn't really possible for any one but a Catholic to 
 understand it," she added. 
 
 A flash of intuition came to Honora. 
 
 "Then you are — ?" she began. 
 
 "A Catholic?" the other took up her sentence. 
 "Yes, thank God, I am a Catholic, and, like Bernard, 
 a convert! So, you see, I ought to understand, and 
 perhaps be able to interpret him." 
 
 "And that is why you are such good friends," the 
 girl said, with a thrill of interest. "Did you perhaps 
 influence — help to make him a Catholic?" 
 
 Again Miss Rainesford shook her head. 
 
 "I had nothing whatever to do with his conver- 
 sion," she said. "Those outside the Church are unable 
 to believe it, but personal influence doesn't make 
 converts. Sometimes it points the way, but only the 
 grace of God brings people into the Church. I never 
 saw the grace of God act more directly on a human 
 soul than on Bernard Chisholm's, and I never saw 
 a more prompt and wholehearted response than his. 
 
 [ 129] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 He seemed to rise up in answer to the divine call, and 
 fling away with positive gladness what would have 
 held a weaker soul so securely back." 
 
 "That is what is most puzzling about him — his 
 gladness," Honora said. "I asked him once to tell me 
 what it was he had gained which made amends for 
 all that he had lost, but he didn't answer the question. 
 Perhaps he thought I couldn't understand." 
 
 Miss Rainesford flashed another keen glance at 
 her. 
 
 "Can't you think of any other reason for his 
 reticence?" she asked. "Don't you know that Catholics 
 are suspected of trying to make converts all the time? 
 As a rule, we don't make efforts of the kind; but some- 
 times the answer to a question will rouse a train of 
 thought which leads very far. Now, it would be 
 awkward if such a train of thought were roused with 
 you, wouldn't it?" 
 
 "Why necessarily?" 
 
 "Well, you see, he couldn't explain what he had 
 gained, without putting the claims of the Catholic 
 Church before you; and those claims are so irresistible 
 to a soul capable of recognizing and feeling them 
 that you might — you'll understand that I'm merely 
 indulging in a hypothesis — have found yourself in a 
 difficult position." 
 
 Honora's eyes met hers with the utmost frankness. 
 
 "Of course I understand what you mean," she 
 said. " You think that it would be dangerous for me 
 to be too curious about the claims of the Catholic 
 Church; for I might find myself in the same position 
 in which Bernard Chisholm was placed, and I couldn't 
 be expected to make such a choice as he made." 
 
 [ 130] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "My dear," Miss Rainesford said quickly, "I 
 couldn't possibly mean that you would be unable to 
 make such a choice; but it's plain that it would be 
 very hard to you — we all know the condition on which 
 you hold your fortune, — and naturally Bernard wouldn't 
 wish to disturb your good faith." 
 
 "There seems to me to be a good deal of arro- 
 gance — spiritual arrogance — in that attitude," Honora 
 protested. "Why should the claims of the Catholic 
 Church be supposed to be so irresistible that they can 
 not be discussed without danger to one's good faith? 
 As a matter of fact, we don't find them irresistible; 
 for numbers of people discuss them without being 
 convinced of their truth." 
 
 "There are many reasons for that," Miss Rainesford 
 said. "It's quite possible to discuss a subject with 
 a mind closed to conviction. Most of the discussions 
 one hears are of that kind. But if one finds an open 
 mind! — " She broke off hastily. "You must pardon 
 me for talking like this," she said. "It's really not 
 at all according to my usual habit; but you asked me 
 to interpret Bernard Chisholm, and it isn't possible 
 to interpret him except through his religion." 
 
 "I recognize that very clearly," Honora said. 
 "I should be very stupid if I didn't. But perhaps I 
 wanted an interpretation which you can hardly give. 
 For instance, do you think his new faith is so firm 
 that nothing could lead him to change his religion 
 again?" 
 
 "Change his religion!" Miss Rainesford seemed 
 irresistibly impelled to laughter. "If there's anything 
 in the world less probable than that, I don't know 
 what it is. But your question is one which is often 
 
 [131] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 asked about converts — their friends are always ex- 
 pecting them to 'come back,' — and it only proves that 
 you don't understand." 
 
 "No, I don't understand," Honora agreed humbly. 
 "I've never known anything before of a religion that 
 had such mysteries and exacted such sacrifices. The 
 religion I've known has been on very good terms with 
 the world; there was nothing mysterious about it; 
 and it exacted no sacrifices, because it had no power 
 to enforce them. So, you see, when I have come face 
 to face with so tremendous a sacrifice as Bernard 
 Chisholm has made — when I am in the position of 
 profiting by it, — I can't be other than a little 
 curious." 
 
 "It's very natural that you should be," Miss 
 Rainesford said sympathetically; "and I wish that I 
 felt at liberty to satisfy your curiosity fully. But" 
 (she shook her head as if admonishing herself) "it 
 wouldn't do, — it really wouldn't do! So you must 
 just be satisfied that Bernard has no regrets for what 
 he feels that he was very fortunate to have something 
 to give in return for the great grace given to him, — 
 and that all you have to do is to enjoy the good 
 fortune which has come to you." 
 
 'That is what everybody says, including Bernard 
 himself," Honora replied a little wistfully; "and of 
 course I am unspeakably grateful for all that has 
 come to me, — for relief from poverty and distasteful 
 work, and fear of the future, and other fears even 
 worse. But still — " 
 
 And then she paused; for how could she go on, 
 since it was not possible for her to give even a hint of 
 the secret bequest which had been added to the other 
 
 [ 132 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 bequest left her, and which lay so heavily as a burden 
 upon her conscience? 
 
 "But still you are pitying the young man who 
 has disinherited himself," Miss Rainesford said, smiling. 
 "Don't do it, my dear, — don't do it! There's nobody 
 less an object for pity than Bernard Chisholm." 
 
 "That, too, is what everybody says," Honora 
 laughed, though the laughter was rather tremulous. 
 
 "Then heed what everybody says," Miss Rainesford 
 advised her. "And now you must let me thank you for 
 having kept him in Kingsford. It would have broken 
 my heart to lose him out of my life; and, as you 
 probably know, he had made his arrangements to 
 go away." 
 
 "No, I didn't know," Honora said a little breath- 
 lessly. "Where was he going?" 
 
 "To South America. He had heard of a business 
 opening in Buenos Aires, and the idea of going there 
 was very attractive to him." 
 
 "And yet he gave it up to remain here." 
 
 "You appealed to him to help you, and it was 
 like Bernard to find the appeal irresistible. He 
 realized how valuable his help was, and how difficult 
 it would be for you to find any one to replace him in 
 the management of the business." 
 
 "And so he stayed in a position which he might 
 have felt humiliating to his pride." 
 
 "But he didn't. He hasn't any pride of that kind 
 to be humiliated. Only small natures suffer in that 
 way, and he — well, he isn't small, you know." 
 
 "He's large in a way that I've never known before," 
 Honora said. "But I see now that I shouldn't have 
 put him to such a test; I shouldn't have made such 
 
 [ 133 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 a demand on his chivalry, for that's what it was. No 
 wonder, Mr. Maxwell was amazed, and thought I 
 shouldn't have done it." 
 
 "I differ with Mr. Maxwell, then," Miss Raines- 
 ford declared emphatically. "I think it was a lovely 
 thing for you to do; and I know, and he knows, that 
 it was from no selfish motive, but because you wanted 
 to provide for him that you did it. There was no need 
 to provide for him, but you didn't know that; and 
 your generous impulse has had the good result of 
 keeping him with us a little longer, and of making 
 you two good friends." 
 
 "I hope we are good friends," Honora said, and 
 paused again because she could not explain the motive 
 that had chiefly influenced her in begging Bernard 
 Chisholm to remain. 
 
 I 134] 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE studio where Julian Page had set up his 
 easel with a view to perpetuating upon canvas 
 the new order, which, artistically speaking, he 
 found little worthy of perpetuation and sadly un- 
 interesting to the artist soul, was in one of the modern, 
 many-storied buildings which had so greatly trans- 
 formed Kingsford. It was the newest and tallest of 
 them all, and had been built by Mr. Chisholm as an 
 investment, on the site of a quaint old hostelry that 
 dated back to Colonial days, and had had the dis- 
 tinction of entertaining many noted figures of the 
 past within its low-ceiled rooms. With the rest of 
 the estate, the great building now belonged to Honora; 
 and Cecily was conscious of an ever-renewed thrill 
 of pleasure when she entered the great, stone-carved 
 doorway, passed across a marble-paved vestibule, and 
 was wafted upward by an elevator, which seemed 
 less a convenience for the public than a concrete symbol 
 of prosperity for herself. 
 
 The studio was in the highest story, with a glorious 
 outlook from the windows over the picturesque, rolling 
 country surrounding the town, and stretching away 
 to a blue line of distant mountains. Spacious and 
 airy, the large room was the better for not being 
 encumbered with much furniture, and for little or 
 no attempt at decoration. When Cecily, with the 
 
 [i35] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 recollection of some other studios in her mind, had 
 commented on this, Julian shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "It's more workmanlike," he said; "and I'm here 
 simply to do work — not to make an aesthetic atmos- 
 phere, and entertain aesthetic friends. You are the first 
 artist whom I have had the pleasure of receiving; 
 and you are as unexpected as an archangel could have 
 been." 
 
 Cecily laughed. 
 
 "It certainly was not worth while to prepare an 
 artistic milieu for such an apology for an artist as I 
 am," she said. "Besides, I like this freshness of space. 
 It looks as if you were in earnest and bent on business. 
 Draperies and armor, and divans and cushions, would 
 seem out of place here, and the mill-owners and their 
 wives and daughters might think you were only 
 playing at portrait-painting." 
 
 "I'll convince them that I'm not, when I've painted 
 you," he replied. 
 
 But his confidence in his ability to catch her 
 elusive loveliness was very much shaken in the time 
 that followed; and when he finally declared that he 
 could do no more to her portrait — that, in fact, he was 
 afraid to add another touch to it — he was so far from 
 satisfied with the result of his labor that, on the 
 morning appointed for its inspection, Edith Selwyn, 
 who was the first to arrive, found him standing before 
 the picture with what was for him a very gloomy 
 expression of countenance. 
 
 "Why, it's charming!" she cried, as she entered and 
 saw the radiant vision which smiled at her from the 
 canvas on the tall easel. "How could you possibly 
 slander yourself by saying anything else?" 
 
 [136] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Do you really think so?" he asked, turning round 
 with a perceptible lightening of the gloom of his face. 
 "You're not saying so merely to cheer me up?" 
 
 "Nonsense! You are in no need of being cheered," 
 she returned. "It's delightful, — you must know it is 
 delightful! One might think it had been painted by 
 Romney or Gainsborough, or some other of the old 
 English painters." 
 
 "Oh, come!" he remonstrated. "That's a little too 
 strong even for my vanity to swallow." 
 
 "But it's true," she insisted. "It's in their style, 
 and amazingly like them." 
 
 "Well, of course there's an attempt at imitation of 
 the style," he confessed. "It suddenly struck me how 
 much she resembles the beauties of that day, as we 
 see them on the canvases of Sir Joshue and Gains- 
 borough and Romney; so I've deliberately given an 
 eighteenth-century air to the picture. That's one 
 thing I'm doubtful about now. It seems an absurd 
 affectation for such a type of modernity as Cecily 
 Trezevant." 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" Edith pronounced. "Cecily 
 Trezevant is there, with all her modernity, though she 
 has the aspect and surroundings of the eighteenth 
 century; but that only makes her more piquant." 
 
 "I'm glad you think so," a gay voice behind them 
 exclaimed; and Cecily came in, bringing, as it seemed, 
 the brightness of the spring day with her. "I'm glad 
 you recognize that he has succeeded at last," she 
 went on, slipping her arm through Edith's as they 
 stood before the easel. "He has been so discouraged, 
 that he doesn't see himself what a charming thing he 
 has done. It is charming, isn't it? Positively I've 
 
 [i37] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 fallen quite in love with myself as I'm represented 
 there." 
 
 "I don't wonder," Mrs. Selwyn laughed. "Any 
 one might fall in love with so adorable a creature. 
 And it isn't merely a lovely picture: it's an excellent 
 likeness, too." 
 
 "Didn't I tell you so?" Cecily inquired, with a nod 
 of her head toward the artist, whose gloom was rapidly 
 vanishing under the sunshine of such commendation. 
 
 And, in truth, it was not only a lovely picture, but 
 also an excellent likeness of Cecily in one of her most 
 characteristic moments. It had been a happy inspira- 
 tion of Julian's to place the charming figure against 
 such a background of woodland glade and soft green 
 shadow as Sir Joshua himself might have painted, — 
 the graceful, nymph-like form, in its simple, clinging 
 dress, standing with hands and arms full of flowers, 
 and a garden hat fallen back on the shoulders, to show 
 the glory of sunlit hair; while the beautiful face looked 
 out of the canvas with Cecily's own smile on the lips 
 and in the eyes, — a provocative and faintly mocking 
 smile of subtle sweetness. 
 
 "Julian, you've accomplished something really 
 wonderful in that expression," Edith went on, turning 
 her gaze from the portrait to its original, and back 
 again. "And, whether you meant it or not, it's the 
 contrast that is so arresting, — idyllic simplicity, which 
 the girlish figure and all the accessories suggest, together 
 with the smile of a siren. Where did you learn that 
 smile?" she broke off, addressing Cecily. "It's too 
 sophisticated for any one so young as you are." 
 
 "That's where the note of modernity comes in," 
 Julian said before Cecily could reply. 'The modern 
 
 [138] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 girl is more sophisticated in her teens than her grand- 
 mother was at fifty. That's what I meant to indicate, 
 and I'm tremendously glad to know that I've 
 succeeded." 
 
 "I hope you'll succeed as well in painting Honora's 
 soul as my smile," Cecily remarked. 'You remember 
 the agreement was that you were to paint her soul? 
 But I don't know when you will have a chance to 
 try; for she is so absorbed in business — all kinds of 
 wretched details — that there's no getting hold of 
 her. I couldn't even induce her to come and see this 
 portrait this morning. She preferred to stay at home 
 and talk factory improvements with Bernard Chisholm." 
 "So Bernard was with her!" Julian commented. 
 "Then it's not surprising she stayed. He has an unholy 
 passion for working, that fellow, and for making other 
 people work if he can." 
 
 "I'll do him the justice to say that he isn't account- 
 able for Honora's working," Cecily explained magnan- 
 imously. "She has a passion of that kind herself, and 
 it was more her fault than his that she didn't come 
 with me." 
 
 "But she can see the portrait at any time, now that 
 it's finished," Mrs. Selwyn observed; "while business 
 really is important, you know. And it's charming 
 that she and Bernard Chisholm should be such good 
 friends, and work together. It's something that could 
 hardly have been expected." 
 
 "It's exactly what could have been expected of 
 Honora," Cecily said; "though of course if Bernard 
 had been a different kind of person she wouldn't have 
 succeeded in making a friend of him. As it is, I think 
 his attitude is a great deal more surprising than hers." 
 
 [ 139] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 'They are both surprising enough," Edith agreed; 
 "but his does astonish everybody to a remarkable 
 degree. Bobby — that's my husband — was talking about 
 it yesterday. He has the highest possible opinion of 
 Bernard, but he simply can't understand him." 
 
 "Of course he can't," said Julian. "How could he? 
 Selwyn is the most practical of men, and Bernard's 
 a confounded idealist,— so there you are!" 
 
 "Bobby has ideals, too, though they are rather 
 well concealed," Edith said. "Please make a note of 
 the fact when you come to paint his portrait, and 
 don't represent him as just a commonplace, self- 
 satisfied business man." 
 
 "I'll try to throw a glamour of idealism about 
 him," Julian promised; "though I must say that he's 
 not a type to suggest anything of the kind; and I'm 
 afraid this demand that I shall paint souls is going to 
 become embarrassing. I'd much rather paint your 
 portrait than Selwyn's," he added frankly. "You are 
 a delightful subject for the brush." 
 
 "Delightful!" Cecily agreed enthusiastically. "But 
 there mustn't be anything idyllic — no woodland glades 
 and flowers— about her portrait. It must be a grande 
 dame picture, — a stately princess in rich clothes and 
 jewels, with eyes as bright as her jewels." 
 
 The bright eyes looked at her laughingly. 
 
 "You're a flatterer," Edith said. "But I'll do my 
 best to attain the grande dame pose, — for of course 
 I've expected to have my portrait also painted, though 
 I haven't been very keen about it till I've seen this 
 lovely thing of you. So you may consider yourself 
 engaged to paint Mr. and Mrs. Robert Selwyn," she 
 went on, turning to Julian. "And for goodness' sake 
 
 [ Mo] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 give as much of an air of distinction to Bobby as 
 possible; for I don't want future generations to look 
 at our portraits and remark, 'How could that — er — 
 distinguished-looking woman have married such a very- 
 ordinary man?'" 
 
 "I'll do my best," Julian assured her. "But I'm 
 afraid you'll have to wait a little, for engagements are 
 piling in upon me rather fast; and I must paint Miss 
 Trezevant's portrait, you know." 
 
 "She's a delightful subject, too," Edith said. "I've 
 never seen a more charming face than hers. And what 
 is her pose to be?" 
 
 "Like herself — absolutely simple and unpretending," 
 the artist replied. "I couldn't think of painting her 
 in any other way; and I only hope I'll succeed in putting 
 some suggestion of her charm on my canvas." 
 
 "Oh, you will! After that" (the speaker indicated 
 Cecily's portrait by a nod) "I have the utmost faith in 
 your skill; although I'm well aware that the same 
 degree of interest can not be expected in other people's 
 portraits. Now I must run away. Cecily, are you 
 coming also? May I take you anywhere? My car's 
 at the door." 
 
 "So is mine," Cecily responded proudly. "It's 
 like all the rest of the fairy-tale. Cinderella's pumpkin 
 coach has taken the very modern form of a fine 
 limousine. Of course I made Honora get it; for, left 
 to herself, she would have continued to drive about 
 with Mr. Chisholm's old-fashioned carriage and 
 horses." 
 
 "I'm devoted to horses," said Edith Selwyn, with 
 a sigh for the memory of the beautiful creatures she 
 had known and loved. "But Bobby likes automobiles, 
 
 [141] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 and it seems hardly worth while to keep both. Then 
 if you're not coming — " 
 
 "No, she can't go," Julian interposed; "for I've 
 a few more touches that I want to put on the portrait." 
 
 "Take care how you put more touches on what 
 is already perfect," Edith warned him. "Good-bye, 
 then! And many congratulations on the success of 
 the picture! Don't forget my bridge party to-morrow, 
 Cecily, whatever you do." 
 
 She rustled away; and the two, left together, 
 looked at each other and smiled, though there was 
 a shade of reproof in Cecily's expression. 
 
 "You know that you don't want to put any more 
 touches on the portrait," she said. "You remarked 
 only yesterday that you wouldn't touch it again for 
 anything; so why did you tell such a — fiction?" 
 
 "Simply to keep you a little longer," he answered. 
 "But I'll change the statement from fiction to fact." 
 He took up a palette and brush, and proceeded to 
 put light touches of paint here and there on the canvas, 
 while carefully avoiding the face. "I think Mrs. 
 Selwyn was tremendously impressed," he observed in 
 a gratified tone. "She's clever enough to know clever 
 work when she sees it." 
 
 "That picture would impress anybody," Cecily 
 said. "It has astonished me. I didn't think you were 
 anything like the artist that's revealed there. You 
 don't mind my saying so, do you?" 
 
 "Not a bit," he told her sincerely. "I don't expect 
 to be taken seriously, never having taken myself seri- 
 ously at all. And, to be quite truthful, the picture has 
 astonished me. I've been awfully discouraged about 
 it, as you know; but now it seems to me by far the 
 
 [ 142 1 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 cleverest thing I've ever done. It's entirely thanks 
 to you," he said, turning abruptly toward her. "You've 
 furnished the inspiration. I couldn't have achieved 
 such a result with any other subject." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you could — you must!" she answered 
 quickly. " How else are you going to avoid disappointing 
 people? Now that you've found what you can do, 
 you must keep on doing it, for your own credit's sake. 
 And, having been stimulated to accomplish that 
 picture, you ought to find others easy. I'm a difficult 
 subject, you know. Many artists have found that out 
 before you." 
 
 "I'd like to punch their heads!" Julian observed 
 vindictively. "I can't bear to think of other artists 
 having painted you. I wish I could believe that I was 
 the first to catch the real you, and put the elusive 
 personality on canvas." 
 
 "Well, you're the first to catch what Mrs. Selwyn 
 calls my siren smile, if that satisfies you," she said. 
 
 "It satisfies me as an artist, but it is very far from 
 satisfying me as a man," he told her. "All the time 
 I've been painting the smile I've been wondering what 
 it meant, as perhaps Leonardo da Vinci wondered over 
 the smile of Mona Lisa." 
 
 "I don't believe he wondered at all. I've no doubt 
 he interpreted it perfectly." 
 
 "Then you think I should be able to interpret 
 yours?" 
 
 "You are not exactly a Leonardo da Vinci," she 
 reminded him; "but neither am I Mona Lisa, so 
 perhaps you should." 
 
 "I've been studying it ever since I caught and 
 put it down there," he said, gazing ruminatively at 
 
 [i43] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the smile in question. "It has haunted and puzzled 
 and tantalized me, but at last I seem to have grasped 
 the meaning of it. Shall I tell you how I read it, and 
 will you tell me if I'm wrong?" 
 
 She nodded from the deep chair in which she was 
 sitting. 
 
 "I'll tell you — that is, if I know myself," she 
 promised. 
 
 "Well, it seems to me that it says, 'Admire me 
 as much as you please, for I like the incense of your 
 admiration; love me if you choose, for I rather like 
 that, since it's at your own risk; but don't expect any 
 return from me, for I'm one of those who take all and 
 give nothing.'" 
 
 ' ' Upon my word ! ' ' Cecily sat up a little breath- 
 lessly. "And you call that interpreting me!" 
 
 "Isn't it true?" he challenged, turning upon her 
 again. "Can you put your hand on your heart and 
 say that it isn't true?" 
 
 There was a moment's silence, in which they 
 looked at each other, — the young man with a sparkle 
 in his eye and a seriousness which sat rather oddly 
 upon him, and Cecily with a mixture of indignation 
 and surprise. But the frankness which was so marked 
 a trait of her character at length triumphed. 
 
 "No, I can't say that it isn't true and very 
 shrewd," she presently confessed. "I would never 
 have given you credit for so much penetration, but 
 you've really divined my attitude very well. I do 
 like admiration — who doesn't? — and I don't object to 
 love, so long as it isn't pressed upon me in an offensive 
 manner; but I haven't the faintest intention of making 
 myself uncomfortable for the sake of any man." 
 
 [ 144] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "But," the man listening to her cried, "would you 
 call it making yourself uncomfortable to accept and 
 return love?" 
 
 "I should call it extremely uncomfortable," she 
 replied decisively, "since it would interfere with life 
 as I've planned it; and I don't intend to let anything 
 interfere with that." 
 
 Julian laid down his palette and brush very delib- 
 erately, and seated himself beside her. 
 
 "Would you mind telling me how you've planned 
 life," he asked, "since love is to be excluded from it?" 
 
 "I didn't say that love was to be absolutely ex- 
 cluded from it," she replied. "I only said that I didn't 
 intend to allow it to interfere with my plans, as it has 
 a great trick of doing, you know." 
 
 "By which I suppose you mean that people some- 
 times fall in love in a way that makes it necessary to 
 modify their plans of life?" 
 
 "Exactly. And I don't intend to modify mine." 
 A certain hardness came into all the lovely lines of 
 her face. "Nothing shall make me do that," she 
 declared. "We have but one life, and but one youth 
 in life; and we are fools if we don't make the very best 
 of that. When we were so poor, it nearly maddened 
 me that, although I had youth and beauty, I could 
 do nothing with them. But the experience educated 
 me: it burned all sentiment out of me, and made 
 me see what are the things that really count. Then 
 when this wonderful fortune came, I determined that 
 I would have those things. Life here just now is pleasant 
 enough, but it's only a preface to the life I've planned. 
 As soon as possible — in other words, as soon as I can 
 tear Honora away — I am going into the world, the 
 
 [i45] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 great world abroad, and I mean to have everything 
 that can be grasped there. I'm beautiful, am I not?" 
 
 "Very beautiful," he agreed. 
 
 "And clever, — you can't deny that I'm clever?" 
 
 "It's the last thing I should think of denying," 
 he assured her. "Your cleverness is as great as your 
 beauty." 
 
 "And I'm rich — that is, Honora is rich, which 
 amounts to the same thing; so am I not right 
 in thinking that the world is before me to conquer 
 and gain all that I want?" 
 
 "You are perfectly right," he replied. "I have 
 never seen any one better equipped for conquest. 
 Youth, beauty, cleverness" (he checked these ad- 
 vantages off on his fingers), "money, and carefully 
 cultivated lack of sentiment, — all together ought to 
 carry you far, and make it easy for you to secure 
 whatever you want from the world." 
 
 "Now you are a little bitter," she said reprovingly. 
 "It's astonishing how soon and how inevitably a 
 man drifts into bitterness when he finds that a woman 
 doesn't appreciate his attractions as he thinks they 
 should be appreciated." 
 
 "Now you are sarcastic," he returned. "I've never 
 had any illusions with regard to the effect of my 
 attractions on you. Why on earth should I? I'm only 
 a poor devil of a painter, with nothing to offer that 
 is in the least degree worth your acceptance, since 
 you've cast hearts out of the cards with which you 
 play the game of life." 
 
 "And if I hadn't, is there any particular reason 
 why I should accept your heart?" she inquired. 
 
 "None — none at all," he hastened to reply. "And 
 
 [146] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 do me the justice to acknowledge that I haven't pressed 
 it on your acceptance. I've understood from the 
 first that the only part I could be allowed was to burn 
 a little incense, and relieve the dulness of a provincial 
 environment by amusing you." 
 
 "You are not amusing me now," she told him 
 frankly. "And all this isn't a bit like you. It's a 
 manifestation of character common enough to men 
 when they are— er — " 
 
 "Rejected?" 
 
 "I haven't rejected you, for you've had too much 
 good sense to offer yourself; and I hope you'll never 
 do anything so foolish. I was about to say, 'when 
 they are disappointed.'" 
 
 "But I'm not disappointed," he said, "for the 
 very good reason that in order to be disappointed one 
 must first have hoped. And I haven't, in your phrase, 
 been so foolish as to have had any hope of anything 
 different from what I've found. From our first meeting 
 I saw clearly that you were intoxicated with the possi- 
 bilities of admiration and pleasure which the command 
 of money opens to you, and that you had no serious 
 thought to give to any one but yourself. Under these 
 circumstances, my own thoughts haven't been serious — - 
 though I can't deny that I'm very much in love with 
 you." 
 
 "There isn't any harm in that," she remarked, 
 "as long as you don't expect — " 
 
 "Pray set your mind at rest," he begged. "I 
 don't expect anything, except to be allowed to enjoy 
 your presence while you condescend to remain with 
 us. After that you will no doubt soar into regions 
 where a poor painter couldn't hope to follow." 
 
 [i47] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I thought painters could enter anywhere, if they 
 were famous and rich enough," she observed. 
 
 "But I am neither famous nor rich," he pointed 
 
 out. 
 
 "There's no reason why you shouldn't be both," 
 she said decidedly. "A picture like that" (she looked 
 at the portrait on the easel) "ought to open the door 
 of fortune for you in a country where art meant 
 anything. Of course it doesn't mean anything in 
 provincial America; so for heaven's sake, for the 
 sake of your own future, get away as quickly as 
 possible! Go back to Paris — go anywhere that is in 
 the world. Your mother and Alicia would want to 
 murder me if they heard me giving you such advice, 
 but I shouldn't be your friend if I didn't give it. It 
 really won't do for you to waste your time and talent 
 painting the nouveau riche of Kingsford." 
 
 "Perhaps not. But it was worth coming back 
 to Kingsford to do that," he said — and he, too, looked 
 at the portrait. "It has revealed me to myself, as 
 well as revealing you; and some day, after I've 
 accumulated enough shekels from the nouveau riche 
 of whom you speak, I'll go back to the great world 
 where by that time you will have made yourself a 
 place, and beg to be allowed to paint you again in 
 your full development. It ought to be something very 
 splendid, that development." 
 
 "It will be," she announced calmly. "You may 
 be quite sure of that. I am probably heartless and 
 egotistical — you've been telling me quite plainly that 
 I am both, — but I am determined to taste life to the 
 full, now that the chance is given me. And, after 
 all, is there any greater duty than to make the most 
 
 [148] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of ourselves, and cultivate to the utmost whatever 
 powers we have? That's the advice I've been offering 
 you. And now " (she rose as she spoke) "I'll add another. 
 Shut up your studio and come with me. We'll take 
 the car and go as far out into the country as we like, 
 and spend this glorious day as it should be spent — in 
 the open. I couldn't make Bernard Chisholm idle 
 with me; but you'll come, I know." 
 
 "Nothing more certain!" he cried, springing up 
 joyously. "Count upon me for unlimited idling in 
 such companionship." 
 
 [ M9] 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HONORA did not see Bernard Chisholm again 
 for several days after the visit of Miss Raines- 
 ford; but meanwhile she learned something 
 about that lady from Alicia Page, who had become a 
 frequent and familiar visitor; a certain degree of 
 intimacy, though without any really cordial feeling 
 on either side, having sprung up between Cecily and 
 herself. 
 
 "Miss Rainesford — Helen Rainesford!" the girl 
 said in answer to an inquiry. "Of course I know her, — 
 everybody knows her. She's General Rainesford's 
 daughter. You must remember him?" 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't, — you see, I've been away so 
 long," Honora said apologetically. "Do they belong 
 here? Are they of the old people?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, indeed! And, like the rest of us, they 
 haven't much money. The General has never been 
 very successful in business; and now he's too old to 
 do anything, so his sons keep up the home for him; 
 and Miss Helen takes care of him, and teaches music 
 besides. She's a charming woman, only — er — she's a 
 Romanist, you know." 
 
 "So she told me, and a great friend of Bernard 
 Chisholm's." 
 
 "Yes: people say that she converted him to 
 Romanism." 
 
 [150] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "She says that she didn't — that she hardly knew 
 him before he became a Catholic. They are of 
 different generations, so I can't suppose she did see 
 much of him. Young men, as a rule, don't care for the 
 society of elderly women." 
 
 "Miss Helen's rather an exception to that rule," 
 said Alicia. "She has always been so pretty, and 
 she's so pleasant and sympathetic that everybody 
 likes her, in spite of her change of religion." 
 
 "But surely that concerns only herself." 
 
 "Well, people don't think so, and in her case it 
 made a great difference in her life. She was engaged 
 to be married, and after her change of religion she 
 broke off the engagement." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "The man to whom she was engaged — he was 
 one of the Latimers, who've grown rich by manufactur- 
 ing, like old Mr. Chisholm — refused to make some 
 promises that the priests demand, and therefore she 
 wouldn't marry him. I've heard that he felt it dread- 
 fully, — so much that he went away from Kingsford. 
 But he married somebody else after a while, and 
 he's very rich now; while she's an old maid, teaching 
 music to support herself. Wasn't she a fool?" 
 
 "I don't know." There was a singular look in 
 Honora's eyes as she spoke. It was as if she caught 
 a glimpse of something wonderful, mysterious, and 
 distant as the stars are from the earth. "I don't 
 know," she repeated. "She may have been a fool 
 or she ma} 7 have been supremely wise. It is hard to 
 tell. But at least it was a heroic choice — if she loved 
 the man." 
 
 "I don't see anything heroic in it," Alicia declared. 
 
 [151] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I think her first duty was to the man she loved. 
 And she certainly loved him. Everybody who knew 
 her is agreed about that. If she wanted to sacrifice 
 herself, she had no right to sacrifice him. It is a 
 horrible religion," the girl cried vehemently, "that 
 takes possession of people, and forces them to do 
 such cruel things!" 
 
 "It is at least a real religion, a living force," 
 Honora felt impelled to say. "There is no other in 
 the world that has power to exact sacrifice, which 
 people make not only willingly but gladly. If Miss 
 Rainesford regrets her choice, she certainly doesn't 
 show it." 
 
 "She's far too proud to show it, but she must 
 regret it," Alicia said. "She has not only sacrificed 
 her own happiness, but think of all she could have 
 done for her father as Hugh Latimer's wife! She 
 could have given him ease and comfort in his old 
 age. But she sacrificed him also; for, although her 
 brothers do what they can, they are struggling men 
 with large families, and it's no wonder they are very 
 bitter about her conduct." 
 
 "I suppose it is no wonder, as human nature is 
 constituted," Honora assented. "That must be the 
 hardest part of such a sacrifice— to cause suffering to 
 others who don't see the reason or necessity for it," 
 she added, while her thoughts went back to some 
 words of Bernard Chisholm when she had accused 
 him of acting selfishly in disappointing his uncle. 
 What divine saying was it he had quoted? "He that 
 loveth father, or mother" — or anybody or anything — 
 "more than Me is not worthy of Me." Terrible words 
 surely if they really meant the necessity for such 
 
 [152] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 sacrifices as he and Helen Rainesford had made! 
 "But Bernard doesn't admit that he has suffered 
 from his sacrifice," she said, involuntarily uttering 
 her thought aloud. 
 
 "No, he doesn't admit it," replied Alicia, who 
 did not seem at all surprised at the introduction of 
 Bernard's name. "But, whether he admits it or not, 
 he has suffered. Think of all that his change of 
 religion has cost him! He was brought up in the 
 expectation of inheriting his uncle's fortune, and to 
 have lost it has altered the whole of life for him, and— 
 and for others. Oh, I oughtn't to be saying things 
 like this to you!" she broke off, coloring vividly. "I 
 don't mean that I'm not glad for you to have the 
 fortune, since it had to go to somebody. But it should 
 have been Bernard's, you know." 
 
 "Of course it should have been his," Honora agreed. 
 "And you needn't hesitate to express to me what 
 you feel on the subject; for I have felt it too." 
 
 "Not as I have," the girl said in a low tone. "It 
 wasn't to be expected." 
 
 And the tone more than the words told Honora, 
 what she had once or twice before suspected, that 
 Alicia felt Bernard's loss in a very special manner. 
 By a flash of intuition she seemed to realize what 
 the situation had been — the intimate, cousinly asso- 
 ciation between the two; the attractive qualities of 
 the young man; the girl's heart turning toward him 
 as a flower turns toward the sun; the prospect of 
 a future of wealth, ease, and happiness opening before 
 her; and then, like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, 
 Bernard's incomprehensible conversion, his uncle's 
 irreconcilable anger, his disinheritance, which had 
 
 [i53] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 truly "altered the whole of life for him" in ways that 
 were at present past calculation! Yes, it was all 
 pathetically plain to Honora's eyes, now that they 
 were opened. And not least pathetic was the fact, 
 of which she felt assured, that Alicia had not filled 
 the place in Bernard's life and thoughts that he had 
 filled in hers. Else things had been different. The 
 majestic figure of the Catholic Church might indeed 
 have intervened; but he would not have been so 
 indifferent to worldly loss had it fallen upon another 
 as well as upon himself, and he would hardly come 
 with so gay a spirit to the house that had been built 
 for him, if his act had exiled from it the woman whom 
 he might have asked to be its mistress. 
 
 And even as Honora was thinking this Alicia spoke 
 again impulsively: 
 
 "You mustn't misunderstand me, or think that 
 there was ever anything between Bernard and me 
 in — in the way of a love affair. It was only that I 
 was always fond of him, and — and I think he was 
 rather fond of me, until this dreadful religion of his 
 came between us." 
 
 "But why do you call it a dreadful religion?" 
 Honora asked. "You must know that it has not 
 made Bernard feel differently toward his friends." 
 
 Alicia gave her a glance which expressed many 
 things which a girl, trained in the reticence in which 
 she had been trained, could not express in words. 
 Aloud she only said: 
 
 "It has made all the difference in the world. It 
 has put a barrier between us that we can't get over. 
 I don't know whether he feels it or not, but I do, 
 whenever we're together now — but here's Cecily at 
 last!" [I54] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 She spoke quickly, as if glad of the interruption; 
 for the conversation had taken place while she waited 
 for Cecily, with whom she was going to one of the 
 bridge parties for which fashionable Kingsford society 
 now chiefly existed. Cecily, who entered at the moment, 
 cool, radiant, and charmingly dressed, lifted her brows. 
 
 "Why 'at last'?" she inquired. "We are not due 
 at the party for twenty minutes yet, and the car will 
 take us there in ten. So I'll put on my gloves." 
 
 She sat down, and as she began to draw on the 
 long white gloves that she was carrying she looked 
 at Honora. 
 
 "I'll have to think soon of returning some of all 
 the hospitality I am accepting," she said. "When 
 are you going to believe that sufficient deference has 
 been paid to the memory of Mr. Chisholm to allow 
 us to do a little entertaining?" 
 
 "I thought after a few months — in the autumn 
 perhaps," Honora answered hesitatingly. 
 
 "We could have a lovely garden party now," 
 Cecily observed. "The autumn is a long way off, and 
 I hope we won't be in Kingsford when it arrives." 
 
 "Where do you hope you will be?" Alicia asked. 
 "In New York?" 
 
 Cecily laughed a little mockingly. 
 
 "New York is only the Mecca of provincials, my 
 dear," she said, "and I am not a provincial. No: I 
 could have whatever I wanted in New York now; 
 but I don't want anything, thank you!" 
 
 "Then where are you going?" 
 
 "To Paris first, of course. And then — anywhere, 
 everywhere. You didn't think I was going to spend 
 my life in Kingsford, attending a constant succession 
 
 [155] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of hen parties, as the English call them, did you?" 
 
 The scorn of her tone was so unmistakable that 
 Alicia flushed, and Honora exclaimed reprovingly: 
 
 "O Cecily!" 
 
 "Why shouldn't I say what I think?" Cecily 
 inquired, opening her eyes. "They are hen parties, 
 where the same set of women meet day after day to 
 show their best clothes to one another, and grow 
 wildly excited over a badly played game of cards, 
 for the sake of a trumpery prize or two — " She paused 
 with a laugh. "Alicia looks quite shocked," she said. 
 "Yet I've told her time and again that the undiluted 
 society of women bores me to the verge of extinction; 
 and there are no men apparently in society here." 
 
 "They are all too busy to sit down and play bridge 
 in daytime," Alicia somewhat indignantly explained. 
 "You've met them at our dances at night." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I've met them on those occasions!" 
 Cecily answered. "But, with the exception of Bernard 
 and Julian, I can't say that any of them interested me. 
 Still, a man's a man, and a great relief, even if he's 
 stupid, after one has had so large a dose of unrelieved 
 feminine society." 
 
 "I think you are the most disloyal person to your 
 own sex that I've ever known," Alicia said, with feathers 
 still ruffled. 
 
 "Well, that only proves that you haven't known 
 many women, or that they haven't been candid enough 
 to tell the truth," Cecily calmly replied. "I always 
 tell the truth; and you may be sure that there will 
 be men at my party, when Honora consents to my 
 giving it. Now," with a glance at a diamond-set watch 
 at her wrist, "I suppose we had better go, or they will 
 
 [156] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 be impatiently waiting for us to begin their game. 
 Who was it said that — 
 
 Men some to business, some to pleasure take, 
 But every woman is at heart a rake? 
 
 He certainly would have been quite sure that she 
 is at heart a gambler, if he had seen a modern 
 bridge party." 
 
 After the luxurious car carrying the two girls had 
 silently and swiftly rolled away toward the town 
 which lay outstretched in the valley below, Honora, 
 who had gone out to see them off, turned and walked 
 slowly in the direction of the garden, her face grave, 
 and her eyes full of a look which meant that she hardly 
 saw the beautiful scene before her, which usually 
 gave her such intense delight. 
 
 Even after she had entered the lovely pleasance, 
 when its flower-set spaces were all about her, and the 
 sweet, iterated note of its thrushes sounding above 
 the rose-arched pergola under which she was walking, 
 her face kept its abstracted expression, though now 
 and then she drew a soft breath of pleasure. But it 
 was not the pleasure with which she usually responded 
 to these influences of nature; for there were other 
 and more disturbing influences which now absorbed 
 her thoughts. 
 
 Cecily! How could she ever have imagined that, 
 after the first novelty and delight in the possession 
 of wealth had worn off, Cecily would be satisfied with 
 life in Kingsford, where her own interests and duties 
 lay, and where a difficult task had been appointed 
 for her? So far from being satisfied, it was now quite 
 
 [i57] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 clear that the girl had set her mind upon speedy de- 
 parture — upon spreading her wings for the wide flight 
 into the world for which she had always longed; and 
 Honora knew well the tenacity of Cecily's will. "Of 
 course by withholding money I could force her to 
 stay," she thought. "But if she is unhappy and dis- 
 contented, what good will the money be to her or to 
 me? What I've chiefly cared to do with it was to 
 make her happy. It doesn't matter in the least that 
 / shouldn't be happy wandering about Europe with 
 nothing to do, — I, who've always had so much to do! 
 I could endure that well enough if it concerned only 
 myself. But I should be neglecting Mr. Chisholm's 
 charge and making no effort to fulfil it. I can't tell 
 Cecily that, and I know that she will give me no peace 
 until I do what she wants; and she'll think me simply 
 selfish if I refuse to do it — and so — and so — " 
 
 She paused abruptly in these troubled reflections 
 as she caught the sound of a step behind her; and, 
 turning around, she saw Bernard Chisholm advancing 
 toward her under the pergola, with its climbing roses 
 and singing birds. He looked so gay and light-hearted 
 with his springing step and smiling air, that she was 
 conscious of a sudden pang of envy; and then she 
 laughed as she held out her hand to him. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked with some surprise. "What 
 have I done to amuse you?" 
 
 'You have done nothing," she replied. "I am 
 laughing because it is ridiculous that I should be 
 envying you for your cheerfulness, — for you are almost 
 offensively cheerful, you know." 
 
 "Am I?" He laughed in turn. "I didn't know 
 it; but you are the last person whom I should have 
 
 [ 158 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 thought it would irritate, as cheerfulness sometimes 
 does irritate people who are not feeling particularly 
 cheerful themselves." 
 
 "It doesn't irritate me at all," she assured him. 
 "It only amuses me, because — well, because one might 
 expect it to be the other way: that I would be cheerful, 
 and you — " 
 
 "Depressed?" He laughed again. "It's quite 
 true that I'm not depressed; but neither are you, 
 I hope." 
 
 "Oh, but I am!" she cried hastily. "It seems 
 absurd, when I have so much money, — but I am!" 
 
 He ceased to laugh, and stood looking at her with 
 something like compassion in his bright dark eyes. 
 
 "You surely didn't think that having a great deal 
 of money would prove a talisman against depression!" 
 he said. "Frequently it acts the other way." 
 
 "You mean—?" 
 
 "That there's often much trouble connected with 
 great possessions. You must have known that." 
 
 "I suppose I've known it as an abstract truth," 
 she replied. "But I've never realized it before; for up 
 to this time almost all the troubles of my life have 
 sprung from want of money. And if I had expressed 
 what I felt before this great change of fortune came to 
 me, I should have said I could never be depressed in 
 spirit again, if I had money enough to meet the 
 expenses of life, and give Cecily what she wanted." 
 
 "And now you've learned — ?" 
 
 "That I was mistaken, that's all. But there's really 
 no reason for troubling you about it. Do pardon me 
 and come and sit down. It's delicious out here, 
 isn't it?" 
 
 [159] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Perfectly," he answered, as he obeyed her gesture 
 of invitation, and sat down beside her on a bench 
 under a mimosa, which was filling the air with the 
 honeyed sweetness of its feathery blooms, about which 
 unnumbered humming birds were fluttering on jewel- 
 like wings. Floods of golden sunshine, alternating with 
 cool deep shadows, were lying on the brilliant flower 
 beds and green lawns before them; and as Bernard's 
 gaze dwelt on the charming picture, he said regretfully: 
 
 "I'm so sorry that you are not happy here! I 
 hoped you might be." 
 
 She glanced up at him quickly, and he was struck 
 by the wistfulness in her eyes. 
 
 "Don't think me ungrateful," she said. "I could 
 be happy, very happy, here if it were not for certain 
 difficulties. It's another truism — isn't it? — that there 
 are always difficulties in every situation. That which 
 is troubling me at present is about Cecily. I want 
 more than anything else to make her happy, and I 
 find that I can't do so without sacrificing things which 
 it seems to me I shouldn't sacrifice." 
 
 "As for example — ?" 
 
 "Well, she is tired of Kingsford, though I hoped 
 it would amuse her a little longer; and she has set 
 her heart on going to Europe to live. She has been 
 very much flattered, and believes that she could achieve 
 a great success over there." 
 
 "I haven't a doubt that she could, with her 
 beauty and cleverness and your money," Bernard 
 remarked. "But you don't want to go?" 
 
 "It isn't so much that I don't want to go — that 
 wouldn't matter at all, for I've never been accustomed 
 to considering my own wishes, — but I don't feel as 
 
 [160] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 if it would be right, for many reasons. I have duties 
 which should keep me here, haven't I?" 
 
 Bernard was astonished by his own inclination to 
 answer emphatically, "You have!" He was suddenly 
 aware that he would be very sorry if the leaf-brown 
 eyes into which he was looking should vanish out of 
 his life. But he gave himself a mental shake, and 
 replied truthfully: 
 
 "Of course it's desirable that you should be here, 
 but there are really no compelling duties to detain 
 you. The business can be conducted very well by 
 your managers, and no doubt you would return occa- 
 sionally to look into things." 
 
 ' ' I have hoped to do a great deal for the factory 
 operatives," she said. "I thought that you and I 
 together could make life a better thing for them." 
 
 "So we could," he agreed — and then caught him- 
 self again; for an instinct warned him that perhaps 
 he might have come to like too well such working with 
 her. "But your plans can be carried out even in your 
 absence," he added. 'You know I told you the other 
 day that you must not let your inheritance become 
 a burden to you." 
 
 "How can I help it?" she asked. "We can't 
 escape burdens, whatever we do; and surely wealth 
 is not meant merely for self-indulgence. It must carry 
 duties with it. And I've also a duty toward Cecily — 
 to judge what is best for her." 
 
 "That's quite true. To give people all they want — 
 which seems to be your ideal, so far as she is con- 
 cerned — isn't always the best thing for them." 
 
 "I'm beginning to see that perhaps it isn't," she 
 said. "But I've never been able to deny Cecily any- 
 
 [161] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 thing that it was in my power to give her, and I don't 
 suppose I ever shall be able to do so." 
 
 "If your conscience told you that you must, I 
 think you'd find the strength to do it." 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "I don't believe that I would," she said. "The 
 strength that enables people to pain and sacrifice those 
 that they love, even at the bidding of conscience, is 
 a mystery to me." She paused and looked at him 
 with a curious gaze. "I've just heard of such a 
 case," she went on. "It was the story of your friend, 
 Miss Rainesford — by the by, I haven't thanked you 
 yet for sending her to see me. I liked her very 
 much." 
 
 "I thought you would," he answered. "I knew 
 she was very anxious to meet you, and I fancied that 
 you might develop friendly sympathies." 
 
 "We did. She is the most interesting person I 
 have met in Kingsford, but — " 
 
 He flashed a smiling look at her as she hesitated. 
 
 "Go on," he said. "But—?" 
 
 "I don't know what to think of her story, as it 
 has been told to me; and I should like to know what 
 you think of it — whether you believe that she acted 
 rightly or wrongly in giving up her lover as she did." 
 
 "Why, really," he answered, "there is for a Catholic 
 but one opinion possible. He refused to make the 
 promises which the Church requires from the non- 
 Catholic party in what is known as a mixed marriage, 
 and she had to choose between him and her religion. 
 There was no alternative." 
 
 "And you think she chose rightly?" 
 
 "I couldn't possibly think otherwise and be a 
 Catholic." [ 162 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Ah!" She reflected for a moment. "Then you 
 are quite sure she did well in sacrificing the happiness 
 of her own life, the happiness of the man she loved, 
 and the comfort of her father's declining years, for 
 the sake of an arbitrary law of the Catholic 
 Church?" 
 
 "There is nothing on earth that I am more sure 
 of," he replied. "Sacrifice is really the keystone of 
 human life. We can not have anything worth having 
 without sacrificing something to obtain it; and the 
 higher the good, the higher the price to be paid." 
 
 "If one paid only oneself! But to make others 
 suffer — that would be intolerable." 
 
 "Can't you realize that suffering must be in the 
 world for some great purpose, or else it wouldn't be 
 so unescapable?" he asked. "And therefore we should 
 not be so anxious to shield others from a discipline 
 they may need." 
 
 "That is a doctrine too high and too hard for 
 me," she said, shaking her head again; "but both 
 you and Miss Rainesford seem to have acted on it. 
 I don't wonder that people think that she made you 
 a Catholic." 
 
 "She didn't, however, you know." 
 
 "I know, for she told me so. But, since that is 
 the case, won't you tell me what did make you one?" 
 
 It is probable that, like most converts, Bernard 
 Chisholm had been asked this question often before; 
 but there was something in Honora's manner of 
 asking it which made him hesitate for a minute 
 before he replied: 
 
 "I think I have told you that the answer to that 
 
 [163] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 question might lead us very far — besides being rather 
 egotistical on my part." 
 
 "Never mind about being egotistical," she said. 
 "And as for leading us far, I remember your telling 
 me so; but you also promised that, when we were 
 better acquainted, you would explain what I wanted 
 to know. And I'm sure you don't make promises 
 without intending to keep them." 
 
 "But sometimes one promises rashly," he pleaded. 
 "I can't believe that the history of my conversion 
 would really interest you — " 
 
 The challenge in her glance cut him short. 
 
 "I'm sure you know better than that," she said. 
 "You must know that everything you say on the 
 subject interests me. It's as if you opened slightly 
 the door into a new and different world of thought 
 and feeling, and then shut it in my face." 
 
 "Oh, no!" he protested. "I can't have been so 
 rude as to shut any door in your face." 
 
 "But that is exactly what you have done," she 
 insisted. "From our first meeting, whenever your 
 religion has been mentioned, you have changed the 
 subject in a way I can compare only to the closing 
 of a door." 
 
 "And can't you give me credit for not wishing 
 either to bore or to embarrass you?" he asked. "I've 
 found that my friends are very likely to be bored or 
 embarrassed by any allusion to my (in their opinion) 
 objectionable religion." 
 
 "I'm afraid you are very disingenuous," she told 
 him. "It's impossible that you could honestly think 
 you would either bore or embarrass me by allusion 
 to a subject which interests me so deeply, if only 
 
 [164] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 because it has brought so tremendous a change into 
 my life." 
 
 "But that's the very reason why it has seemed 
 necessary to avoid it," he explained. "Under the 
 conditions of your inheritance, it would be in — very 
 bad taste, shall we say? — for me to discuss it with 
 you." 
 
 "I can't see why." 
 
 "Oh, I think you must! And, at all events, I do." 
 
 There was a brief pause, and then — 
 
 "So Miss Rainesford was right!" Honora observed 
 reflectively. "I spoke to her of the closed door, and 
 she suggested that possibly you did not wish to discuss 
 the subject with me because you were afraid of un- 
 settling my faith, and perhaps putting me in the same 
 position in which you were placed — without your 
 courage to meet it." 
 
 "Is it possible Miss Rainesford said that!" he 
 exclaimed. 
 
 "Well, not exactly the last," Honora replied. 
 "That was only my interpretation of what she did 
 say. But she was quite explicit about the danger of 
 unsettling my faith, so I must tell you that there's 
 no need of such consideration. I can discuss the 
 claims of the Catholic Church without any danger 
 to my faith — such as it is." 
 
 The last words were uttered involuntarily, and 
 so low that only Bernard's quick ear enabled him 
 to catch them. He looked at her wonderingly. 
 
 "In that case," he said, "I'm unable to understand 
 why you should be interested in discussing the claims 
 of the Catholic Church at all." 
 
 "Oh, you are dense!" she complained. "Excuse 
 
 [165] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 me, but really you are! Why, my interest is altogether 
 personal, of course. As I've told you before, you've 
 done so extraordinary a thing, made so extraordinary 
 a sacrifice, that I am curious to know the nature of 
 the influence which proved so powerful." 
 
 "But 1 can't explain what puzzles you without 
 opening doors which would—" 
 
 "Lead one far? But please understand that I 
 am not afraid of opening doors. I want to discover 
 what lies behind them." 
 
 "You want to know exactly — ?" 
 
 "Why you were led to change your religion; why 
 you are apparently so well satisfied in it, notwithstand- 
 ing all that it has cost you; and why you are sure — 
 if you are sure — that you could not be led to recon- 
 sider old claims, and change again?" 
 
 "To what?" 
 
 The question was very quiet, but she found it 
 unexpectedly difficult to answer. 
 
 "To something broader, perhaps," she hazarded 
 at length, — "to a religion that would leave your mind 
 free, that would not fetter you with dogmas." 
 
 He smiled. "Is there such a religion?" he inquired. 
 "There are theories and sentiments in abundance 
 afloat in the world, but a religion without dogmas — 
 that is, without formulated beliefs, and the authority 
 to make those beliefs binding on the consciences of 
 men — does not and can not exist." 
 
 "See how dogmatic you become at once!" she said 
 reprovingly. "Now, it seems to me that freedom is 
 the most desirable thing in the world, and we know 
 that the Catholic Church forbids all freedom of 
 thought." 
 
 [ 166] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Only with regard to those things which God has 
 revealed," he explained; "and one wouldn't wish 
 to make a mistake with regard to them, would one?" 
 
 " Not if one could be certain that they were revealed 
 by God," she answered. "But that is where the 
 difficulty comes in, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know," he assented. "I have been through 
 it all, have wandered in the morass of human opinion 
 that is called freedom of thought, and been very 
 grateful to find at last a guide to show me the one 
 safe road to peace of soul here and eternal life here- 
 after. But I feel all sorts of a prig to be talking like 
 this!" he broke off. "And I really shouldn't be dis- 
 cussing religion with you, so would you mind changing 
 the subject?" 
 
 "I should mind very much," she replied decidedly. 
 "Please go on. You found a guide, you say; but 
 how did you find it? Miss Rainesford declares that 
 personal influence doesn't make converts to Cath- 
 olicity. Then what does make them?" 
 
 "You must have heard of the grace of God." 
 
 She looked at him with an astonishment which 
 she made no attempt to disguise, and which was not 
 so much for the statement as for the strangeness of 
 hearing a young man say such things. They would 
 have been strange enough from anybody, but from 
 a young man! One must have been brought up as 
 Honora had been, in an atmosphere of modern Protes- 
 tantism, to realize just how extraordinary she found 
 this. 
 
 "Yes, I've heard of it," she answered. "That was 
 Miss Rainesford' s explanation. But it is more mys- 
 terious than the other; for we don't know much about 
 
 [167] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the grace of God — at least we are not accustomed to 
 hearing it given as a reason for change of belief." 
 
 "That's quite true," he remarked. "I never heard 
 a Protestant (unless he or she became a Catholic) 
 attribute any change of religious belief to the grace 
 of God. It is always purely and frankly a matter of 
 personal taste and preference with them." 
 
 "Why not call it exercising the right of private 
 judgment?" she asked. "And how is it different when 
 one becomes a Catholic? Haven't you, for example, 
 exercised private judgment and also personal preference 
 in choosing your religion?" 
 
 "To a certain degree I have," he acknowledged. 
 "When one is outside of the Church, one must use 
 one's judgment in deciding on her claims. But there's 
 so much more above and beyond this that it's quite 
 impossible to attempt to describe it." 
 
 "It's clear that you don't care to make the 
 attempt, so far as I am concerned," she said. "But 
 I believe I understand what you mean. It was a 
 fascination — a strange, indefinable attraction — that 
 drew you. I know, because I, too, have felt it." 
 
 She had certainly succeeded in startling him now. 
 
 "You!" he exclaimed, — "you have felt — ?" 
 
 She nodded. "Yes, I have felt in slight, oh, very 
 slight — degree an attraction in Catholic churches 
 which I haven't found anywhere else; or, to be 
 strictly accurate, I should say that I have felt the 
 attraction in one Catholic church, for I've seldom been 
 in any other. It was a church that I passed every day 
 on my way down-town in New York; and I was first 
 attracted by its massive appearance, by an air about 
 it — as if it were a stronghold and fortress of peace. 
 
 [168] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 I can use no other expression; for that is the idea 
 which always occurred to me — a fortress of peace. 
 I noticed it for a long time before I ever went inside; 
 but at last one day the attraction seemed to become 
 irresistible, so I left my train in order to find out what 
 the fortress really held." 
 
 "And you found—?" 
 
 "That my instinct had been right, and that it held 
 peace, — a wonderful, penetrating, pervading peace, 
 such as I've never known any other place to hold. 
 And — I don't know exactly how to say this — it wasn't 
 the peace of mere stillness and silence which might 
 be in any large, empty building. It was more than 
 that: it was — " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "As if the building wasn't empty in any real 
 sense, — as if some influence filled and pervaded it, 
 and gave one the strangest feeling of being rested and 
 soothed and comforted all at once. Of course," she 
 went on hastily, after a short pause, "I have no doubt 
 that the explanation lies in my own state of mind 
 at the time. I was so tired, — even more tired spiritually 
 and mentally than physically; life stretched before 
 me as so arid, so devoid of hope, or satisfaction of 
 any kind; and I was besides so oppressed by cares 
 and fears which it isn't necessary to enter into — " 
 
 "I understand," he said, in a tone of deep 
 sympathy. 
 
 'That I was ready to be acted upon by any 
 influence. And aren't we told that we can sometimes 
 hypnotize ourselves?" 
 
 'We are told a great many absurd things," he 
 replied; "but I hope you don't believe that you 
 
 r 169] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 hypnotized yourself into feeling as you did in that 
 church?" 
 
 "No, I can't believe that I did," she said; "for, 
 if so, I ought to be able to produce the same state 
 of feeling somewhere else, and I've never been able 
 to do so." 
 
 "You've tried?" 
 
 "Yes, I've tried. You see, I had fallen into the 
 habit of stopping occasionally on my way home, to 
 spend a short time in the church of which I speak; 
 it was like a spiritual bath of refreshment, which helped 
 me to gather up my energies and go on with life. But 
 after Mr. Maxwell came I had a feeling that I must 
 not go there any more, — that it wouldn't be honorable 
 to do so, since I had inherited a fortune on the con- 
 dition I was not a Catholic." 
 
 "Had you ever thought of becoming a Catholic?" 
 Bernard asked a little breathlessly. 
 
 "Oh, no!" she answered very decidedly. "I had 
 never thought of it, and I knew nothing about the 
 Church except what Protestants believe. But I had 
 been conscious of what I suppose was a shadow of its 
 fascination, so I felt that I must not continue to expose 
 myself to that fascination after I had accepted Mr. 
 Chisholm's money." 
 
 "I'm afraid he would have thought twice about 
 leaving it to you, if he had known that you were 
 paying visits to a Catholic church," Bernard remarked, 
 with an irrepressible smile. 
 
 "I was quite certain of that," Honora said; "and 
 therefore I didn't go back any more to the church which 
 I still called my fortress of peace. But I missed it, 
 even in the midst of the excitement of my last days in 
 
 [ 170] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 New York; and once or twice I went into other 
 churches — not Catholic — in search of the same attrac- 
 tion. But I never found it. Some of them were very- 
 beautiful, and had everything in the way of archi- 
 tecture, stained glass, and religious emblems to make 
 them devotional; but there was no spell about them: 
 they were just empty buildings, and there was no 
 more to be gained by going into them than into any 
 other quiet place." 
 
 "And how do you explain the difference?" Bernard 
 asked curiously. 
 
 "I can't explain it," she answered. "But, since 
 you must have felt the same influence in much greater 
 degree, perhaps you will explain it for me?" 
 
 "The explanation is to a Catholic the most obvious 
 thing in the world," he told her. "The church simply 
 wasn't empty: the Blessed Sacrament was there." 
 
 'You mean the— Host?" she queried. "I supposed 
 so, when I saw people bowing toward the altar. But 
 why should I, who am not a Catholic, and don't 
 believe what Catholics do, have been conscious of Its 
 presence?" 
 
 "God only knows," the young man answered a 
 little desperately. "You can't expect me to interpret 
 that. And — and you do not at all realize how far the 
 subject would lead us? / realize, because I've been 
 over the road, and I know how things hang together,— 
 what an inexorable logic there is about the Catholic 
 faith. So I can't take the responsibility of discussing 
 it with you. If you are really interested, there are 
 books and priests to tell you whatever you want to 
 know." 
 
 "I am not at all interested in that way," she said 
 
 f 171] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 hurriedly. "I haven't the least curiosity about the 
 Catholic faith on my own account. My curiosity is 
 altogether about you, and your attitude toward the 
 religion which has cost you so much. I've been 
 wondering if, perhaps, you haven't begun to regret 
 your sacrifice a little. People say that converts are 
 frequently disappointed after they join the Catholic 
 Church, that a revulsion of feeling takes place, and — 
 and that they often come back." 
 
 "Not often: on the contrary, very seldom," he 
 said; "and never those who have been sincerely 
 converted — that is, who have not acted from mere 
 emotionalism, or from unworthy motives. So far as 
 I am concerned" — he paused for a moment, — "I think 
 that I have given sufficient proof that my conversion 
 was sincere, and consequently must be lasting." 
 
 "Nobody could possibly question the sincerity of 
 your conversion," she hastened to assure him. "But 
 sincerity does not secure one against making mistakes. 
 And all the more because of your sincerity you would 
 be forced to recognize the fact if you had made a 
 mistake, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Yes, I should be forced to recognize it," he 
 answered; "but there's nothing more wildly improb- 
 able — I may say impossible — than that I should ever 
 recognize that I made a mistake in entering the Catholic 
 Church. I waited a long time, and I counted all the 
 cost before I took the step that seems to you so extraor- 
 dinary. And now, instead of feeling the disappointment 
 and revulsion of which you have spoken, I am filled 
 with wonder that I could have waited at all, and that 
 any cost seemed worth considering in comparison with 
 the gain." 
 
 [172] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Very simple and very quiet both words and manner 
 were, but they carried such a force of conviction in 
 their simplicity and quietness that Honora was suddenly 
 filled with a sense of the futility of further effort to 
 accomplish the task laid upon her by the old man 
 who was dead, together with a disappointment for 
 which she was wholly unprepared. Had she really hoped 
 to be able to influence Bernard Chisholm in the manner 
 desired? She told herself that she had not entertained 
 such hope; but to her surprise, and much to her dis- 
 comfiture, she felt a mist of tears rising to her eyes. 
 
 "I'm sorry, — oh, I'm very sorry!" was all she 
 could say. 
 
 "But why should you be sorry?" Bernard asked 
 gently; for he saw the shining mist in the leaf-brown 
 eyes, and was deeply touched by it. "Everything has 
 happened for the best. I have gained more than I 
 can express; and you have profited by my loss, which 
 is the greatest possible source of pleasure and satis- 
 faction to me." 
 
 Then Honora laughed, as people sometimes laugh 
 to avoid tears. 
 
 "You remind me," she said, "of a story I once 
 read about one of your saints. It was in Medieval 
 times, and his brothers decided to go and become 
 monks or hermits, or something of the kind, and wanted 
 him to remain in the world to inherit the wealth and 
 honors of their family. But he said, ' Do you call it a 
 fair exchange to take heaven for yourselves and leave 
 the world for me?' And so he went along with them. 
 Well, I don't mean that I approve of their ideas, but 
 yours are strikingly like them. You congratulate 
 yourself upon having gained eternal things, and you 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 imply that I should be satisfied with inheriting the 
 fortune you scorned. It's like the saint and his 
 brothers — the higher choice for you, and for me — " 
 
 "But no choice has been asked of you," he reminded 
 her. "The fortune came to you as a free gift: you 
 were not required to choose between it and the grace 
 of God." 
 
 She was about to reply, "No, I was not required 
 to choose," when something like an illuminating flash 
 of light upon the past made her stop and ask herself 
 if there had really been no act of choice, no deliberate 
 movement of the will, when she accepted the condition 
 upon which wealth had been given her, and when she 
 decided that she must not enter again the church 
 where she had found such mysterious peace. Bernard 
 saw a startled expression come into her eyes, and 
 then she surprised him by rising abruptly. 
 
 "You are right," she said: "there is nothing at 
 all to be gained by this discussion, for it's as if we 
 were talking in different languages. I've seemed inex- 
 cusably persistent in forcing it on you; but I hope 
 you'll believe that it wasn't merely from curiosity." 
 
 "I'm quite sure of that," he told her quickly. "I 
 know that your interest has sprung from the kindness 
 of your heart — from sympathy with one whom you 
 conceive to have been hardly treated, but who really 
 wasn't, and who therefore must not accept sympathy 
 to which he isn't entitled." 
 
 "You've told me that several times before, and 
 I'll promise not to make you tell me again," she said. 
 "Now come, and let us talk about the contract for 
 the factory improvements." 
 
 [i74] 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE dusk of the June evening, filled with the 
 fragrance of flowers, and with sunset fires still 
 lingering in the west, where the delicate golden 
 crescent of a new moon gleamed, was holding the 
 earth under its spell of enchantment, as Bernard 
 Chisholm walked down one of the shade-arched streets 
 of the older part of Kingsford, and entered the gate 
 which led to a spacious, old-fashioned house, set back 
 from the street among tall, old trees. 
 
 There was no one visible on the wide veranda 
 surrounding the house, where many large, comfortable 
 chairs were grouped, as if waiting occupancy. But 
 through its open windows a flood of melody poured 
 out on the twilight; for some one within was playing 
 Schumann's 'Traumerei" most beautifully, bringing 
 out the lovely melody with velvet-tipped fingers. 
 
 Bernard mounted the steps of the veranda noise- 
 lessly, and sank into a chair beside a window which 
 opened to the floor, and near which, in the room within, 
 he knew that the piano stood. Here he remained 
 without moving until the last strains died away, and 
 then he applauded softly. 
 
 Immediately a hand drew back the draperies of 
 the window, and a voice cried eagerly: 
 
 "Is that you, Bernard? Come in, and we'll have 
 some music." 
 
 [i75] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Thanks! But I've just enjoyed the 'Traumerei,'" 
 Bernard answered, as he rose; "and I can't indulge 
 myself further now, for I want to talk to you; and if 
 I don't seize the present opportunity, some intrusive 
 person will certainly interrupt us. So, please, do you 
 come out!" 
 
 "Very well," was the laughing rejoinder. 
 
 There was the sound of a piano lid closed, and the 
 next moment Miss Rainesford stepped through the 
 window, and sat down beside him. 
 
 "Here I am," she said. "And if you want to talk 
 of anything important, you've chanced upon a good 
 time; for father has gone to George's with the 
 children — who were here to tea, — and he will certainly 
 remain there an hour or two." 
 
 "It wasn't the General whom I had in mind as an 
 intrusive person," Bernard had the grace to explain, 
 "but some one of the numerous visitors who have 
 frequently forced me to think that you are entirely 
 too popular." 
 
 "Perhaps it's because I'm one of the few people 
 who prefer to listen rather than to talk," she hazarded. 
 "And I don't deserve much credit for it, either. I'm 
 often too tired and sometimes too indolent to talk; 
 so I just lean back and let my visitors pour out their 
 stream of conversation with very few interruptions. 
 They like that." 
 
 "Well, lean back now, and I'll pour out what I 
 have to say. But I warn you that I shall expect 
 attention; for I've come to seek advice." 
 
 " In that case I won't lean back. I'll remain upright 
 in body as well as in mind; for I'm sure you wouldn't 
 seek advice on an unimportant matter. What is it?" 
 
 [176] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Something that I may be mistaken in thinking 
 important, yet I have an instinct that it is. It's about 
 Miss Trezevant — Honora Trezevant." 
 
 "Ah!" Miss Rainesford sat a little more upright. 
 "That's an interesting subject. And what about her?" 
 
 "Well" — the young man frowned slightly, as if in 
 perplexity, — "I've had rather a singular conversation 
 with her this afternoon, and, upon my soul, I believe 
 that she is inclined toward the Church." 
 
 "A great many people are," Miss Rainesford re- 
 marked calmly, — "many more than ever act upon their 
 inclination, being, like Demas, too much attached to 
 the things of this present world. I'm not greatly 
 surprised to hear that Miss Trezevant is one of them. 
 I rather suspected something of the kind from our 
 conversation when I went to see her. She seemed 
 so peculiarly interested in your conversion." 
 
 "She has evinced that interest from the first," 
 Bernard said; "and I have had difficulty in avoiding 
 the discussion of the subject with her. I've thought 
 her persistence in trying to discuss it rather strange; 
 but I set it down to curiosity, and sympathy with 
 my loss — which, in spite of all my assurances to the 
 contrary, she insists upon considering very great. But 
 this afternoon I had a new light." 
 
 "Yes? What kind of light?" 
 
 "A gleam that seems to explain the fascination the 
 subject evidently holds for her. It happened in this 
 way. I went to see her on business, and found her in 
 the garden alone. But instead of talking business she 
 began to speak of other things — first of her sister, who 
 has discovered that Kingsford offers too limited a fiell 
 for the gratification of her desires and ambitions, anc 
 
 [ 177 1 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 has decided that she wishes to go to Europe to live." 
 
 "And does she want Honora to go also?" 
 
 "That appears to be her plan. And it was quite 
 evident that Honora would have no power to refuse, 
 though she does not want to go, as she confessed." 
 
 "Then she is weaker than I would have given her 
 credit for being. If that beautiful, spoiled creature — 
 who must be as selfish as she is spoiled — wants to go 
 abroad to live, she could send her under proper pro- 
 tection, without going herself." 
 
 "I gathered that that wouldn't suit Mademoiselle 
 Cecily's plans; and so Honora was very downcast 
 at the prospect of leaving her interests and occupa- 
 tions here. Well, the conversation drifted along. We 
 talked of you, and, by the by, she was charmed with 
 you—" 
 
 "Many thanks! I was certainly very much pleased 
 with her. And then?" 
 
 'Then there came what I am tempted to call the 
 inevitable diversion to the subject of my religion. 
 It seems you had told her that personal influence didn't 
 make converts—" 
 
 ' ' I remember telling her something of the kind — 
 of course in answer to her questions." 
 
 "So she wanted to know what did make them, and 
 practically demanded a history of my conversion." 
 
 "Did you give it to her?" 
 
 "I did not. I forget what I said exactly. It was, 
 I fancy, just the usual fencing on my part. But for the 
 first time it seemed to provoke her. She charged me 
 with disinclination to answer her questions because 
 I feared unsettling her faith, and said that she did 
 not wish to be considered in that way, — that she had 
 
 [178] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 a right to discuss the claims of the Catholic Church 
 if she chose to do so." 
 
 "That's true, you know. She has a right to save 
 her soul, in spite of the Chisholm will and the Chisholm 
 fortune." 
 
 "A right, yes. But since she isn't in the least likely 
 to exercise that right, one is bound not to disturb her 
 good faith — not to give her information that would 
 make her position terribly hard, were her conscience 
 once roused." 
 
 "I'm not sure that I agree with you. I'm not at 
 all sure that one has a right to withhold information 
 of the kind because one is not certain that it will be 
 acted upon." 
 
 "Generally speaking, you are probably right. But 
 in this particular case I think I'm right," Bernard said 
 obstinately. "You don't know this girl; you don't 
 realize how easy it would be to rouse her conscience, 
 and how dreadfully she would suffer if it were roused." 
 
 "I believe that I realize it," Miss Rainesford an- 
 swered; "for, although I have seen her only once, I 
 was very much impressed with her, and she is easily 
 read. There is nothing subtle about her: it is a 
 transparent character, very sincere, very loyal, with 
 strong affections, and little thought of self. It is by 
 such characters that sacrifices are made." 
 
 "Not sacrifices that would entail suffering on 
 others. That's where the defect of the quality of 
 unselfishness comes in, and there's where you have a 
 difficulty that could hardly be surmounted. Cecily 
 Trezevant would stand like a lion in the path of her 
 sister's possible conversion to the Church; for, as 
 3^ou know, the latter holds her fortune on the condition 
 
 [ i79] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of not being a Catholic, and she would forfeit it if 
 she became one. The sacrifice would be too much 
 to expect of her." 
 
 "Why should it be too much to expect? You 
 made it." 
 
 "The situation is entirely different with her from 
 what it was with me. I gave up the fortune, it's true; 
 but that was a small sacrifice for a man with youth, 
 health, strength, and nobody depending on him; 
 while it would be an appalling sacrifice for this girl, 
 who would be forced to return to poverty and labor 
 for which she is wholly unfitted, and who has a sister 
 whose prospects in life she would destroy — and who 
 would never forgive her for it." 
 
 Miss Rainesford sighed. "I suppose it would be 
 too much to expect of her, unless she were of the most 
 heroic mould — such mould as we do not encounter 
 often in life," she said. "But you haven't told me 
 yet why you think that she is inclined toward the 
 Church?" 
 
 "Haven't I? I'm afraid I'm telling my story in 
 a very disconnected manner. Well, in the course of 
 the conversation about my conversion, she startled 
 me by confessing that she, too, had felt the attraction 
 of the Church, — that attraction which, like a powerful 
 magnet, draws souls toward it, as we know well. But 
 she is altogether ignorant of the faith, as you may 
 judge from the fact that she doesn't understand what 
 renders a Catholic church different from any other. 
 It appears that she fell into the habit of wandering into 
 one in New York, and so became conscious of an 
 atmosphere unlike any she had ever known before." 
 "I've heard many Protestants say that they were 
 
 [180] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 conscious of such an atmosphere in our churches." 
 
 "I'm aware that there's nothing unusual in the 
 experience, but it was rather pathetic to hear this 
 girl describe hers, — how, after a day of wearying toil, 
 she would drop into the church, which she called 'a 
 fortress of peace,' and find there rest, comfort, and 
 strength to go on with life. It was all perfectly 
 comprehensible to a Catholic, but it puzzled her 
 tremendously." 
 
 "Didn't you tell her what was in the church?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! I told her that, in the fewest words 
 possible; but when she wanted to know why she, 
 who had no faith in the real Presence, was so con- 
 scious of Its influence, I simply declined to discuss 
 the subject further. In the first place, I didn't know 
 myself, though I had a strong suspicion; and, in the 
 second place, it was an absolutely impossible subject 
 for me to discuss with her" 
 
 "Why was it impossible for you to discuss it with 
 her?" 
 
 He stared a little. "Surely you must see that I am 
 the last person to have anything to do with her conver- 
 sion to Catholicity, if it should take place," he said. 
 
 "I suppose I'm stupid," she replied, "but I don't 
 see. Is it possible that you are thinking of what people 
 would say?" 
 
 "A little perhaps," he admitted. "We all have 
 our weaknesses. And you can't but acknowledge that 
 it might look like a revenge for my disinheritance, if 
 I had any part in converting the heiress, whom my 
 uncle selected, to the religion he detested, thereby 
 forcing her to lose the fortune he left her." 
 
 Miss Rainesford burst into laughter. 
 
 [181] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I've never heard anything more utterly absurd!" 
 she exclaimed. 'You know that nobody would ever 
 dream of attributing such a motive to you." 
 
 "Seriously, I don't know it," he answered. "I 
 can see a good many people shaking their heads and 
 saying that it was quite 'Jesuitical,' and altogether 
 what was to have been expected." 
 
 "Of course there are always fools to be reckoned 
 with," she conceded. "But you didn't care in the 
 least what people said, or how far they misjudged 
 you, when it was a question of your own conversion." 
 
 "That was a different affair altogether. My con- 
 version concerned only myself, but I can't incur any 
 responsibility in this case." 
 
 "It's the first time I've ever known you afraid of 
 responsibility." 
 
 "I'm not only afraid, I positively refuse to accept 
 it in the present instance," he asseverated. "And 
 therefore I've decided that it will be best to carry out 
 as soon as possible my original intention of leaving 
 Kingsford." 
 
 "Because Honora Trezevant has asked a few 
 questions about the Catholic faith? Bernard, I am 
 amazed at you!" 
 
 "The amazing thing to me," he returned, "is that 
 you don't seem to realize the position in which I am 
 placed. I can't continue to evade her inquiries, and 
 I can't possibly accept the responsibility of answering 
 them. So the only thing to do is to go away." 
 
 "But you are so illogical!" she exclaimed. "You've 
 said in the most positive manner that you con- 
 sider nothing more unlikely than her conversion." 
 
 ' ' I am not talking of her conversion in the sense 
 
 [182] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of a formal, outward act," he explained. "Considering 
 the tremendous renunciation it would entail, I do 
 regard that as absolutely unlikely, if not impossible, 
 however much she were convinced of the truth of the 
 Catholic faith. But the conversion of the spirit — the 
 terrible inward struggle of conscience on one side, 
 and affection and interest on the other, — there is where 
 tragedy would come in. And I can't, I won't, have any 
 responsibility with regard to that." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and then Miss 
 Rainesford said slowly: 
 
 "All this is so unlike you that I am inclined to 
 draw a conclusion which may not please you." 
 
 "What conclusion do you draw?" he asked. 
 
 "The conclusion that you are thinking of running 
 away, not so much because you feel yourself in danger 
 of converting Honora Trezevant as of falling in love 
 with her." 
 
 "And if your surmise were true," he said, quietly, 
 "wouldn't you think that I was acting wisely in running 
 away?" 
 
 "Bernard!" she gasped. "Do you mean that it 
 is true?" 
 
 Even in the dusk she could see that his eyes were 
 smiling as he looked at her. 
 
 "Only as a possibility," he told her. "It was the 
 second revelation that I had this afternoon; for I 
 hadn't before been aware of such a possibility. But 
 she is very attractive, very sympathetic, very charming 
 altogether; and if I continue to be associated with her 
 as I have been lately, I — well, I can't answer for myself. 
 And so there's but one word for me, and that word 
 is 'Go!'" 
 
 [183] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "But why?" Miss Rainesford cried appealingly. 
 "It seems to me that it would be ideal if you and she 
 fell in love with each other and married, — the most 
 perfect righting of a wrong imaginable. And what is 
 more," the speaker went on, with a sudden flash of 
 intuition, "I believe that is what your uncle hoped 
 and intended. Why else should he have left his fortune 
 to a girl? Depend upon it, his pride wouldn't let him 
 break his word and leave it to you after he had threat- 
 ened you with the loss of it, but he hoped you'd get 
 it in this way." 
 
 It was Bernard's turn to laugh now. 
 
 "My dear friend," he said, "let me assure you 
 that my uncle neither read nor wrote romances, and 
 such a plan would never have entered his mind. If 
 it had — but it couldn't, for he knew me too well." 
 
 "Knew you in what way?" 
 
 ' ' In the way of being certain that I would never 
 take by such means the fortune he had refused to 
 give me." 
 
 "Do you mean that if you loved this girl and she 
 loved you, you would not marry her because she 
 inherited your uncle's fortune?" 
 
 "I mean just that. Nothing would induce me even 
 to consider such a possibility." 
 
 "Well, I call that sinful pride." 
 
 "And I call it self-respect. So there you are! But 
 really we are going much too fast. I'm not in love with 
 Honora Trezevant: I only felt this afternoon that it 
 was within the bounds of possibility that I might 
 come to be; and I'm absolutely certain that she hasn't 
 the faintest idea of being in love with me. But her 
 interest in the Church is a very real and very per- 
 
 [184] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 sistent thing, and the peculiar circumstances of my 
 conversion make it centre about me ; hence her inquiries 
 into the psychological process of that conversion." 
 
 "And to avoid those inquiries you are going to run 
 away! I wouldn't have believed it of you." 
 
 "But I have all along intended to go away," he 
 reminded her. "I want to take advantage of that 
 opening in Buenos Aires of which I've told you, and 
 this means only that I would go a little sooner than of 
 late I have intended." 
 
 "And I've been hoping that you had given up the 
 idea of going at all, — that I wouldn't have to lose 
 you out of my life. You don't know what it would 
 mean to me to lose you. Oh, I wish your uncle had 
 never heard of Honora Trezevant!" 
 
 "Don't wish that," Bernard said. "She is not only 
 the right person in the right place, but I shouldn't 
 be here now, you know, but for her. All my plans 
 were settled for going, but she begged me to remain; 
 and I was tempted to do so, partly because I wanted 
 to help her in a difficult position, and partly to carry 
 out some plans of my own about the business. But 
 it was a mistake — I see that now, — and the sooner 
 one ends a mistake, the better." 
 
 "But you've said that she's going away!" Miss 
 Rainesford cried, with the air of one who is struck by 
 a happy idea. "If the younger sister has set her mind 
 upon their going abroad to live, why, that solves the 
 difficulty; and you needn't run away to avoid either 
 converting or falling in love with Honora." 
 
 "I didn't say that she was certainly going abroad — 
 only that Cecily wishes her to do so." 
 
 "But what Cecily wishes is the thing that comes 
 
 [185] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to pass, isn't it? Oh, I've no doubt they will go! So 
 there's really no immediate necessity for you to buy 
 your ticket for Buenos Aires." 
 
 "Of course I can't leave immediately," he acknowl- 
 edged. "That wouldn't be fair, since I've just under- 
 taken to superintend certain improvements in the 
 factories. But I shall go as soon as possible, and 
 meanwhile — ' ' 
 
 "Yes, meanwhile?" 
 
 "I'd like to hear what advice you have to offer for 
 my guidance in the situation." 
 
 "Don't be a coward!" she advised him promptly. 
 "It's a r61e that doesn't suit you at all. Up to this 
 time, I've never seen any one face life with more cheerful 
 courage; and there's no reason why you should lose 
 either cheerfulness or courage now. If God intends 
 to reward you for what you have done by letting you 
 help another soul along the difficult path of sacrifice — " 
 
 "No, no!" he interrupted. "I decline that r61e 
 altogether!" 
 
 "You can't decline it, if it is appointed for you. 
 And if God puts a great opportunity before Honora 
 Trezevant, you have no right, in your desire to spare 
 her suffering, to close the door of inquiry in her face." 
 
 He smiled, remembering Honora's words about the 
 closed door. 
 
 "It's clear," he said, "that you are inclined to 
 offer only the most heroic advice, — advice which is 
 entirely too heroic for me to follow. So don't be sur- 
 prised if you hear that I have become wholly absorbed 
 in business as long as I remain here, and that I shall 
 hereafter see as little of Miss Trezevant as our relations 
 will allow." 
 
 [186] 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THAT Bernard found greater difficulty than he 
 anticipated in carrying out his resolution of 
 being wholly absorbed in business, and seeing 
 no more of Honora Trezevant than could be avoided, 
 was hardly surprising, considering that, as human 
 experience assures us, "the best laid plans of men 
 and mice gang aft aglee"; and also that he had not 
 reckoned upon Cecily, and her power of making people 
 do not what they desired but what she desired they 
 should do. So it came about that, answering a telephone 
 call one morning, he found himself addressed by a 
 silvery and rather imperative voice. 
 
 "Hello! Is that you, Bernard?" the voice inquired. 
 "This is Cecily Trezevant. How are you, and why 
 haven't we seen anything of you lately? . . . Oh, been 
 very busy, have you? But that's stupid — to be so 
 busy that you can't spare time to see your friends. . . . 
 Well, I'm glad to hear that you're sorry, for sorrow 
 should include amendment; and I'm going to give 
 you an opportunity not only to amend but to do a 
 favor. You like doing favors, don't you?" 
 
 "It depends upon the nature of the favor," Bernard 
 replied cautiously. "I'm afraid I am not very benevo- 
 lently inclined. What is it you want me to do?" 
 
 ; 'Why, something that you like very much, so 
 you can't refuse, however unbenevolent you may be. 
 
 [187] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 We want you to take part in a concert that Mrs. 
 Selwyn and I are getting up." 
 
 "For your own amusement?" 
 
 "Primarily, and also for some charitable purpose — 
 I forget what exactly, and it really doesn't matter. All 
 that matters just now is that you'll promise to help 
 us; and you will, won't you?" 
 
 "Since you put it that way, of course I'll be delighted 
 to do anything I can." 
 
 "I was sure you would. Be kind enough, then, 
 to report for rehearsal at eight o'clock this evening." 
 
 "At Mrs. Selwyn's?" 
 
 "No: at our — Honora's — house. We are going to 
 rehearse in your music room. You don't mind, do you?" 
 
 "Why should I?" 
 
 "I knew you wouldn't. In fact, I thought you'd 
 be glad to have the beautiful room put to some use. 
 I told Honora so. She was inclined to object, but — 
 well, we needn't go into that, either. You'll be certain 
 to come at eight promptly! Thanks so much! Good- 
 bye!" 
 
 As Bernard hung up the receiver, he said to himself, 
 "Kismet!" It was not what he would have desired, 
 to be booked for participation in an amateur concert, 
 with rehearsals not only in Honora's house but in the 
 music room that had been fitted and prepared for his 
 individual use and pleasure. But, since the matter 
 had been taken out of his hands, he was willing to 
 shift responsibility to the shoulders of fate, and accept 
 the situation with resignation. 
 
 Indeed, there was more than resignation in this 
 acceptance: there was a distinct sense of a difficult 
 effort relaxed. After all, he had perhaps been unneces 
 
 [188] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 warily startled by that conversation in the garden, and 
 there was really no reason why he should debar himself 
 from intercourse with Honora because she showed a 
 curious interest in his conversion, or through fear 
 that he was not strong enough to resist an attraction 
 to which it was impossible for him to yield. Miss 
 Rainesford's, "Don't be a coward!" echoed in his ears; 
 and he told himself that she had been right in character- 
 izing his fears as exaggerated and fantastic. There 
 was nothing less likely than that Honora' s interest in 
 his religion would lead to any practical result in her 
 own case. Had he not her word to the contrary, her 
 arguments against the Church, her almost passionate 
 assurance that her interest was purely personal to 
 himself? And he was undoubtedly sure of his own 
 strength, — his clear realization of the fact that there 
 was no woman in the world set farther apart from him 
 than the heiress of the fortune he had forfeited. These 
 things being so, it was therefore well that Cecily had 
 put an end to a course which, if persevered in, would 
 probably have led to embarrassment and misconception. 
 
 Fortified and encouraged by such considerations, 
 it was with a light-hearted sense of something pleasur- 
 able awaiting him that he spent the remainder of the 
 day, and, when evening fell, took his way along the 
 familiar road which led to the house that was to have 
 been his own, and was now Honora's. 
 
 The stately residence made a beautiful picture, 
 standing on its commanding eminence, in the sunset 
 glow, as he drew near; and, somewhat to his surprise, 
 he found Cecily waiting for him at the head of the 
 terrace steps, — -a lovely figure outlined against the 
 incarnadine west. 
 
 [189] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "How nice of you to be so punctual!" she cried at 
 sight of him. "I was afraid you might be late." 
 
 "Why were you afraid?" he asked. "You said 
 eight o'clock, and it is barely eight now." 
 
 'Yes, I know I said eight," she replied. "But 
 that was because I wanted to have a little talk with 
 you before the others came. The rehearsal is really 
 appointed for half-past eight. So, you see, I should 
 have been very much disappointed if you hadn't been 
 on time. But here you are, and now we'll go into the 
 garden, where we shall be undisturbed." 
 
 She turned as she spoke; and, with increasing 
 surprise, Bernard moved beside her toward the garden. 
 It was delightful there in the exquisite June twilight, 
 filled with the fragrance of flowers. But he was not 
 able to enjoy the charm of the place or the spell of 
 the hour, through wondering what had given Cecily 
 her very unwonted air of serious preoccupation. As 
 they walked, she spoke lightly enough of the coming 
 concert, and of those who had agreed to take part in 
 it. But through the stream of words he was conscious 
 that her attention was really absorbed by something 
 altogether different; and he was himself only waiting 
 until she should let him know what this subject was. 
 
 It was not long before she did so. They had passed 
 under the pergola, where he met Honora when he was 
 last there; and as they emerged she led the way toward 
 the same seat under the mimosa where he had then 
 sat. 
 
 "Let us sit down," she said. "I know you are 
 wondering why I've brought you out here, and what 
 it is that I want to talk about. Well, there's no good 
 in beating about the bush, especially when time is 
 
 [ J 9o] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 limited; so I might as well say at once that I want you 
 to tell me what is the matter with Honora?" 
 
 He was so entirely unprepared for, and so thor- 
 oughly astonished by, this inquiry that for a moment 
 he could only stare at the speaker. Then — 
 
 "I wasn't aware that anything was the matter 
 with her," he said. "Why should you think I would 
 know, or could tell you anything about it?" 
 
 She gave him a quick glance out of the pansy- 
 purple eyes that could be so keen sometimes. 
 
 ' There are several reasons why I thought it possible 
 you might know," she replied. "One of them is that 
 your absence of late has coincided so exactly with the 
 change in her." 
 
 "What kind of a change?" he asked anxiously, 
 overlooking the allusion to himself. 
 
 Cecily hesitated slightly. 
 
 "It's rather hard to define," she said, "though it's 
 very perceptible to me, — so perceptible that I feel I 
 really can't endure it any longer without some 
 explanation." 
 
 "Have you asked her for an explanation?" 
 
 "Of course I have. But she gives me no satisfaction, 
 and only declares that there's nothing the matter 
 with her — which, on the face of it, is absurd!" 
 
 "But you haven't told me yet in what the change 
 consists." 
 
 "No, and I can't describe it further than to say 
 that she is dreadfully depressed in spirits (though she 
 tries to hide this), and that she evidently has some 
 great worry or weight upon her mind." 
 
 "But why should you connect me with this 
 condition?" 
 
 [191] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "By the simple process of putting two and two 
 together," she replied a little dryly. "This condition, 
 as you call it, has existed in particularly marked degree 
 ever since your last visit; and therefore I should be 
 very stupid if I didn't draw the conclusion that some- 
 thing had taken place then which produced a deep 
 effect upon her. So I determined to ask you about 
 it, and I did hope you would be frank with me. She 
 hasn't said or done anything that you have — er — mis- 
 understood, has she?" 
 
 "Good Heavens, no!" he exclaimed with energy. 
 "What could she possibly have said or done that I 
 would misunderstand ? ' ' 
 
 "How can I tell?" Cecily returned. "I've thought 
 that she might have made some offer that offended 
 you, — tried to induce you to take part of the estate, 
 perhaps — " 
 
 "You must know that is impossible," he interrupted 
 quickly. "Nothing of the kind has occurred or could 
 occur." 
 
 "Well, something occurred!" Cecily persisted. 
 "There's no good in telling me that something hasn't 
 happened to disappoint her deeply; and I'm as sure 
 as that I'm living that the disappointment is connected 
 with you. What you've done or declined to do of course 
 I can't tell." 
 
 "And you refuse to believe that I have neither done 
 nor left undone anything, of which I am aware, that 
 could have such an effect upon her?" 
 
 "Then why have you been staying away so un- 
 accountably?" she demanded, turning upon him. 
 "It's ridiculous to expect me to believe that her 
 depression and your absence have no connection. Oh, 
 
 [ 192] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 I know I've no right to be questioning you in this 
 way! But I'm very much concerned about Honora's 
 state of mind, and she has let fall some really extraor- 
 dinary remarks." 
 
 He was himself so much concerned that, almost 
 involuntarily, he inquired: 
 
 "What kind of remarks." 
 
 But again Cecily hesitated before replying. 
 
 "They were rather vague," she said at last, "but 
 they seemed to express some kind of a feeling that 
 the fortune she has inherited isn't really hers, that she 
 is only holding it in charge for somebody or something 
 else — " She paused and looked at him with an anxiety 
 she was unable to conceal. "There's nothing in your 
 uncle's will to justify such a feeling as that, is there?" 
 
 "Nothing whatever," he replied. "The estate is 
 left to her unreservedly — in the most absolute terms." 
 
 "Ah!" Cecily gave a sigh of relief. "Then I can't 
 imagine what on earth is the matter with her, or what 
 idea has taken possession of her mind. It's really 
 more like an obsession than anything else. You'd 
 think that after such a life as she has had, such dreadful 
 experience of poverty, she would enjoy intensely the 
 fortune that has come to her. But the fact is that 
 she doesn't enjoy it. You must have observed that?" 
 
 Bernard signified that he had observed and been 
 surprised by the fact alluded to. 
 
 "I've been puzzled from the first by this curious 
 attitude of hers," Cecily went on; "but I thought it 
 would wear off after she became accustomed to the 
 possession of wealth. Well, it doesn't wear off: on the 
 contrary, it seems to grow stronger; and I can account 
 for it only by supposing that she is worrying about 
 
 [ 193 1 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 your disinheritance. She feels very keenly about that, 
 you know." 
 
 "I know that she does, and I have tried very hard 
 to convince her that there is no need for such concern 
 on her part." 
 
 "I believe you have tried," Cecily conceded; "but 
 you certainly haven't succeeded very well. And as for 
 what's lately occurred — for you can't expect me to 
 believe that something didn't occur to account for the 
 coincidence of your absence and her singular depres- 
 sion, — if you can't or won't throw any light upon it, 
 there's no reason why I should detain you here any 
 longer." 
 
 She rose as she spoke; and, as Bernard rose also, 
 he said in a tone of deep concern: 
 
 "I can't express how sorry I am for what you've 
 been telling me — I mean about your sister's state of 
 mind; and sorry, too, for my failure to convince you 
 that I haven't anything consciously to do with it. 
 As for my staying away, that has been for a reason 
 altogether different from what you have imagined." 
 
 She paused, and stood looking at him intently in 
 the light which the afterglow of the sunset was still 
 shedding over them. 
 
 "But you can't deny," she challenged, "that there 
 was a reason other than the filmy excuse you've given?" 
 
 "If so," he replied, "it was a reason which con- 
 cerned only myself." 
 
 "But somebody here must have done something 
 to produce such an effect. If it wasn't Honora, was it 
 perhaps me?" 
 
 He smiled as he regarded the charming picture 
 she made, standing in her alluring fairness in the color- 
 ful twilight. [ 1 94 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I'm sure," he told her, "that you are well used 
 to causing wilder eccentricity of conduct than any 
 of which I've been guilty; but I must relieve you of 
 all responsibility for mine." 
 
 She flushed under his gaze, which seemed to appraise 
 and to dismiss the charms she was accustomed to 
 find irresistible; and, turning, began to walk toward 
 the house. 
 
 "In that case we needn't discuss the subject 
 further," she said. "The others are probably arriving 
 by this time, and we must join them. I hope you'll 
 like the programme we've arranged, and the songs for 
 which your friend, Miss Rainesford, has cast you." 
 
 When Bernard met Honora a little later, he was 
 extremely relieved to perceive no sign of the change 
 in her of which Cecily had spoken. The simple gracious- 
 ness of her manner was exactly what it had always 
 been; and she made no indiscreet inquiry about, or 
 allusion to, his prolonged absence. He himself felt more 
 than a little conscious on this point, especially under 
 the eye of Miss Rainesford, who was talking to Honora 
 when he came up to greet her. But that lady also was 
 mistress of perfect tact, and at once put him at ease. 
 
 "O Bernard, I'm so glad to see you!" she said, 
 as he turned to her. "I've been fearing you might 
 decline to help us; for I know you dislike amateur 
 performances — ' ' 
 
 "But I'm not disobliging as a rule, am I?" he 
 asked. "And there could certainly have been no question 
 of my declining if I knew you were interested in the 
 performance. But what is it for? I haven't heard yet." 
 
 "Haven't you? Well, I'm glad to say it is for an 
 
 [i95] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 object we can all agree upon, and work for in harmony— 
 the new city hospital. Society is so terribly cut up 
 into sects and sets of all kinds that the need to relieve 
 human suffering is about the only ground on which we 
 can meet." 
 
 "Then it is surely appropriate that our entertain- 
 ment should be musically harmonious," he laughed. 
 He looked again at Honora with something appealing, 
 though he was not aware of it, in his handsome eyes. 
 "Are you going to help also?" he asked. "I don't 
 know whether you are musical or not." 
 
 "Only in loving music," she answered. " My 
 musical education stopped short when I was about 
 fifteen; and it didn't really matter, since I don't think 
 I have any talent worth cultivating. But I am devoted 
 to hearing music — though there again I haven't been 
 able to cultivate my taste very much." 
 
 "You must have had many opportunities to do so 
 in New York," he suggested. 
 But she shook her head. 
 
 "No: I was too busy, and I had very little money 
 to spend on luxuries, — and operas and concerts are 
 luxuries. The only fine music I ever heard was in the 
 churches. I alv/ays went on Sunday where I thought 
 I would be sure of finding some." She added a little 
 deprecatingly: "I'm afraid it was my only idea of 
 divine worship; and there wasn't any real worship 
 in that — only the satisfaction of my longing for 
 harmony." 
 
 "Oh, I don't know!" Miss Rainesford said. "The 
 harmony raised your thoughts to God, and made you 
 grateful to Him for creating such a source of delight, 
 I'm sure. Did you go to the Catholic churches? You 
 
 [196] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 would have been likely to hear the best music there." 
 "Occasionally I went to the cathedral, but not 
 very often, — it was so crowded, and the services were 
 so unintelligible to me. But Catholic music is superb, 
 I know." 
 
 "The best of it is. But there are a good many 
 different kinds," Miss Rainesford observed discreetly. 
 "If you are not well acquainted with it — and few 
 people outside of musicians are — you must get Bernard 
 to play over some of the Masses of the great com- 
 posers for you. He's an enthusiast about that kind 
 of music. It was what converted him." 
 
 "Was it?" Honora's eyes turned, wide and bright, 
 on Bernard. "He has refused to tell me what did 
 convert him. I'm glad to know at last." 
 
 "Miss Rainesford was not exactly serious," Bernard 
 said, with a slightly reproachful glance at that lady. 
 "She means only that music was one of the roads that 
 led me to the door of the Church." 
 
 "The chief road," corrected Miss Rainesford. 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it was," Bernard admitted. "You 
 see, it happened this way," he said, answering the 
 inquiry in Honora's look. "I had always been very 
 fond of music, but I had never chanced to hear any 
 Catholic music — I mean the music written for the 
 Church by the great masters — until, by the merest 
 accident (if anything in life is an accident) I went 
 with a party of friends to a ceremonial function at 
 the Benedictine Abbey not far from here — " 
 
 "What!" Honora's astonishment forced her to 
 interrupt. "Is it possible that there is anything so 
 medieval as a Benedictine Abbey near here?" 
 
 "Quite near, as distance is reckoned in these days 
 
 [ 197] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of motor cars," he assured her. "A few hours' run, no 
 more. Well, oddly enough, I had never felt any curiosity 
 about the Abbey; but reports of fine music to be 
 heard there wakened my interest. So I went — " He 
 stopped for a moment, keenly conscious of Honora's 
 quickening attention, and then continued hurriedly: 
 "I can't go into details of what I heard and saw there — 
 but I found that I had stepped out of the world I 
 knew into another — so remote in its strangeness, yet 
 so close in its appeal to the deepest instincts of my 
 nature, that it overwhelmed me. The music? Oh, 
 yes! The music delighted me, and I met the young 
 monk who was the organist and director of the choir — 
 to my unaccustomed eyes a figure out of the Middle 
 Ages in his religious habit, but a man as modern as 
 myself, and a musician to his finger tips. He responded 
 charmingly to my advances, and opened to me a world 
 of music that enchanted me, as I sat by the organ for 
 hours while he rolled out the great harmonies. For, 
 to make a long story short, I didn't go back with my 
 party. I stayed at the Abbey for several days. And 
 that was the beginning of the end of which you know." 
 
 Honora's eyes were shining as she looked at him. 
 
 "And Music led you there!" she commented. "You 
 had built this beautiful home for her" (she indicated 
 by a gesture the splendid room, all lighted and open 
 before them, from which the rich notes of a piano now 
 came) ; ' ' and she rewarded you by leading you away, 
 and forcing you to sacrifice it." 
 
 He smiled irresistibly. 
 
 "You've really grasped it!" he said. 
 
 [198] 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE concert, under the able management of the 
 ladies who had undertaken it, proved a great 
 success both socially and financially; but the 
 handsome cheque which went to the city hospital was 
 by no means its final or most important result. That 
 result was rather to be found in certain processes of 
 thought and feeling which were taking place with both 
 Bernard and Honora, as a consequence of their renewed 
 association, and of the revelation which music had 
 already brought to one, and was bringing to the other. 
 For Honora was not likely to forget Miss Raines- 
 ford's, "You must make him play for you some of the 
 Masses of the great composers"; and Bernard could 
 not resist the pleasure of introducing so appreciative 
 a listener into that realm of splendid harmony, where 
 music, so often debased to lower uses, rises to the 
 full height of its angelic mission to lift man's soul 
 to God. It was indeed such a delight to him to find 
 himself once more at the organ he had so carefully 
 selected, and to roll out from its great pipes the waves 
 of glorious melody which he loved, and he was also 
 so thoroughly assured of giving equal delight to Honora, 
 that he overlooked, for a time at least, the fact that 
 he was leading her along the path by which he himself 
 had been led — by the most potent of all the arts which 
 are the divinely appointed handmaidens of religion. 
 
 [ 199] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Come next time a little earlier than the others, 
 so that you can play some of your Catholic music for 
 me," she had bidden him on the evening of the first 
 rehearsal; and he not only promised to do so, but he 
 had kept his promise, forgetful of any reason why he 
 should not give to both her and himself so much 
 apparently harmless pleasure. And from coming a 
 little earlier than the others, he soon came much 
 earlier; for time went quickly when one was interpreting 
 and explaining the work of the great masters. And 
 after the rehearsals were over he still came, unable 
 to resist the fascination not only of the music but of 
 Honora's pleasure in it. For who that loves an art — 
 any art — intensely, does not enjoy with equal intensity 
 opening it to another, wakening and educating another's 
 appreciation of it? 
 
 And it was not only the music that Honora was 
 learning to appreciate: the majestic harmonies carried 
 to her mind a growing realization of the great sacrificial 
 rite of the ages for which they were written; and, in 
 the light of Bernard's explanations, she saw with her 
 mind's eye, and seeing understood, those strange 
 movements of the priest about the altar at which in 
 the past she had more than once looked in ignorant 
 wonder, and with the involuntary dislike of Protestant- 
 ism. Now she was conscious of a sudden longing to 
 see them again. 
 
 "I think I should understand a Mass now," she 
 said one day abruptly, as Bernard's hands paused on 
 the keys of the organ, while the last notes of the 
 Benedictus of Gounod's Messe Solcnnelle died away. 
 "You and the music together have interpreted it for 
 me, so that I seem to comprehend clearly what I 
 
 [ 200 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 couldn't comprehend at all before. It was all so 
 unintelligible, so unlike anything I had ever known. 
 But I should feel differently now, and — and I would 
 like to hear a -Mass again." 
 
 Bernard looked at her with eyes which were a little 
 startled. For the first time he realized how far he had 
 been led away from his own resolutions, and how far 
 he had been leading her along a path that was barred 
 to her. 
 
 "I have no doubt you would understand the 
 meaning of the Mass better now," he said, trying to 
 speak carelessly. " It is a great act of worship, a sacrifice 
 offered to Almighty God; and Protestants, you know, 
 have lost that idea altogether, so it's not strange you 
 didn't comprehend it." 
 
 "I should like to see a Mass again," she repeated. 
 "It would be interesting in the light of the new 
 knowledge that has come to me." She paused, hesitated 
 an instant, and then asked: "Do you think there is 
 any reason why I shouldn't gratify my desire, — why 
 I shouldn't go to the Catholic church here?" 
 
 'There's every reason," Bernard replied hastily. 
 'You've no idea of the gossip that would ensue. 
 Kingsford would be convulsed. Everybody would be 
 sure that you were going to become a Catholic." 
 
 "What difference would that make?" She spoke 
 a little haughtily. "I can't imagine anything of less 
 importance than what Kingsford chose to think or 
 say of my actions." 
 
 "Don't be too scornful of public opinion," Bernard 
 admonished her smilingly. "Sometimes it has a right 
 instinct. I think that it would have in this case. 
 Everyone knows the condition on which you inherited 
 
 [ 201 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the Chisholm fortune; and people would be right 
 in thinking that while you held the fortune you should 
 not forget the condition." 
 
 "I should not forget it because I went to hear a 
 Mass in a Catholic church. Numbers of Protestants 
 visit Catholic churches purely from curiosity." 
 
 He looked at her with a quick, searching intentness. 
 
 "Would you go purely from curiosity?" he asked. 
 
 "From what other possible motive could I go?" 
 she parried. 
 
 "Then don't go!" he told her very decidedly. 
 "Curiosity is not a proper motive for going to witness 
 the most solemn act of religious worship in the world. 
 Ignorance would excuse it in many people, but not 
 in you. And then — " 
 
 "Yes, then—?" 
 
 "You owe a respect to the opinions of the man who 
 gave you his wealth as long as you enjoy that wealth; 
 and I can assure you that there is nothing he would 
 more strongly have disapproved than your visiting 
 the Catholic church, even from motives of curiosity." 
 
 For the first time since he had known her, he saw 
 the blood mount to her face as if she were offended. 
 
 "In accepting Mr. Chisholm's fortune," she said, 
 "I did not give up my freedom either of thought or 
 of action." 
 
 "Forgive me," he replied gently, "but I think you 
 did. And may I not remind you that you recognized 
 this yourself when you felt in New York that it was 
 a point of honor not to go again to the church where 
 you had found such mysterious peace?" 
 
 She looked at him silently for a moment, and in 
 her eyes he read something which startled him more 
 
 [ 202 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 than he had been startled yet. Then she dropped her 
 lids, and said quietly: 
 
 "You are right. What was a point of honor in 
 New York, where no one knew me or eared what I 
 did, is doubly a point of honor here, where everybody 
 knows what I should be disregarding. Well, I won't 
 go to the Catholic church in Kingsford. I will wait 
 to gratify my curiosity until I am out of sight of every- 
 one who knows me. That will be when I go abroad— 
 for I have promised Cecily that I will go." 
 
 "Oh, Cecily has carried her point, has she? I 
 thought she would." 
 
 "Cecily always carries her points," Honora stated 
 simply. "One might as well give up at first, for one 
 has to give up at last — she is so quietly persistent. 
 And, then, I've recognized that there's really no reason 
 why I should not gratify her." 
 
 "There's every good reason if you don't wish to 
 go yourself," Bernard remarked. 
 
 She made a little gesture signifying indifference. 
 
 "That doesn't matter at all," she said. "Personally, 
 I should prefer to stay here, where everything is so 
 peaceful and restful. But Cecily says that I don't need 
 rest, that what I need is to be excited and interested 
 and taken out of myself, and — and to shake off morbid 
 fancies. And probably she is right." 
 
 "I'm quite sure that she isn't right," Bernard said 
 decidedly. "She is simply making a plea for her own 
 selfishness, if you'll forgive my frankness. And what 
 morbid fancies does she think that you need to shake 
 off?" 
 
 There was a distinct shadow of trouble in the eyes 
 that met his now. And as he saw it, he remembered 
 
 [ 203] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Cecily's question — "What is the matter with Honora?" 
 What, indeed, was the matter which gave that look, 
 as if a haunted conscience suddenly gazed at him out 
 of the beautiful eyes? 
 
 'That is merely Cecily's way of talking," Honora 
 said hastily. "She is apt to describe what she doesn't 
 understand as morbid fancies. I really don't think 
 that I have anything of the kind." 
 
 "I have never seen any one whom I should judge 
 to be less subject to anything morbid," Bernard told 
 her — ' ' except — ' ' 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Except that a sensitive conscience, which you 
 clearly possess, sometimes inclines that way. You ought 
 to be on your guard against such a danger." 
 
 "But how can I be on my guard?" It was a 
 positive wail of entreaty which escaped her. "One 
 doesn't make situations for oneself — at least I haven't 
 made them: they are created by others. And if one 
 is thrust into them, and — and sees no way out, between 
 conflicting claims — oh, I shouldn't be talking like this! 
 It is foolish and useless, and there's no reason why I 
 should trouble you with my — fancies." 
 
 "I'm inclined to think that there is a very strong 
 reason why you should," he said. In truth, a flash of 
 illumination had come to him: it was quite clear that 
 the girl was tortured by some scruple of conscience, 
 and to what or to whom could this relate but to the 
 fortune she had inherited, and to himself? He suddenly 
 recalled having heard Mr. Maxwell speak of a letter 
 from his uncle which existed besides the will. Might 
 not this letter contain something which would account 
 for all that had puzzled both Cecily and himself in the 
 
 [ 204] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 attitude of the heiress toward her inheritance? Still 
 sitting on the organ bench, he turned squarely toward 
 her with a light of resolution on his face. 
 
 "See here!" he said. "I am going to be perfectly 
 candid with you, and I beg you to be candid with me. 
 There's something troubling you which can't be allowed 
 to go on; for I'm certain that it rests on a misapprehen- 
 sion, and that it relates to your inheritance and to me. 
 What charge did my uncle lay upon you in the letter 
 he addressed to you in connection with his will?" 
 
 If he had exploded a bomb at her feet he could 
 hardly have surprised her more than with this most 
 unexpected question. Her lips sprang open, as well as 
 her eyes, as she gazed at him speechlessly for a moment. 
 And then, 
 
 "What do you know about the letter?" she gasped. 
 
 "I know — I've known all along — that it exists," 
 he replied; "but beyond that, nothing. I've never 
 been curious about it, because I felt that its contents, 
 whatever they were, didn't concern me. But I see now 
 that was only a proof of my stupidity. My poor uncle — 
 it would have been exactly like him! — has evidently 
 laid some charge upon you with regard to me. Now 
 I have a right to know, and you must tell me what 
 it is." 
 
 "I can't tell you, and you have no right to demand 
 that I shall," she answered, regaining something of 
 self-possession. "The letter was addressed to me, and 
 was strictly confidential." 
 
 He nodded. "I understand that. But you can't 
 deny that it relates to me?" 
 
 "I'm not bound to deny it, or to tell you anything 
 about its contents," she answered, with a flash of 
 spirit. [ 2Q5 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "No, you are not bound to do so," he assented; 
 "but you will, because it's only right that I should 
 know the nature of the charge which is troubling you 
 so deeply. However, if you are resolved not to tell 
 me, I can give a shrewd guess, knowing my uncle 
 as well as I did — " 
 
 "I would rather that you did not guess, that you 
 said nothing more about it," she interrupted. "It 
 does not seem right; it is the violation of a trust." 
 
 "Not on my part," he told her quietly. "No trust 
 has been given to me. So I am violating nothing in 
 saying that I feel sure that Uncle Alexander, being 
 sorry at the last for his conduct toward me (which, 
 nevertheless, his pride and obstinacy would not permit 
 him to change), tried to modify the situation he had 
 himself created, by saddling your inheritance with 
 some condition or charge which has deprived you of 
 what should be your enjoyment in it. You can't 
 deny this?" 
 
 She made no effort to do so: she only sat, gazing 
 at him dumbly, and wondering how far his intuitions 
 would carry him. 
 
 "Now," he went on, "that is plain; and there 
 remains only the point: what did he tell you to dot 
 Was it — could it possibly have been — to provide for 
 me, by keeping me in charge of the business of the 
 estate?" 
 
 "No, no!" she cried. "He never mentioned such a 
 thing. That was my own idea altogether. I — I felt 
 that you ought to remain here — that you ought to be 
 kept in touch with things." 
 
 "Why?" He pressed the inquiry almost sternly. 
 "Why should I remain here, why continue in touch 
 
 [206] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 with things in which I have no longer any interest, if 
 it was not to throw a few crumbs of benefit to me 
 from the fortune I had forfeited? It is true that you 
 put your request on the ground of helping you — the 
 only ground that would have induced me to remain, — 
 but my uncle must have written something which led 
 to this thought on your part." 
 
 "He did not," she asserted positively. "You must 
 believe me when I tell you that he did not." 
 
 "Of course I believe you," he assured her. "But, 
 in that case, what charge did he lay upon you? It must 
 have been something that was very near his heart." 
 
 He paused and looked at her with a singular, con- 
 centrated brightness in his eyes under their knitted 
 brows. For a minute there was silence in the beautiful 
 room, where the music had ceased to echo, and only 
 the song of the thrushes came in through the open 
 windows, together with the fragrance of the magnolia 
 blooms from the garden beyond. Honora felt as if 
 her mind lay open to that intent glance, and her heart 
 was beating painfully as she waited for his next words. 
 Suddenly they came, filled with a strange, compre- 
 hending gentleness: 
 
 "Nearest his heart!" Bernard murmured. "Ah, I 
 see! Poor Uncle Alexander! He asked you to draw 
 me away from the Catholic Church." 
 
 "And if he did," Honora cried passionately, "don't 
 you see that it was his affection for you that made him 
 snatch at so desperate a hope of influencing you? He 
 must have known that I would have no power to do 
 what he wished; but he was dying, and it was his 
 only hope. Oh, don't you see the poignant sadness 
 of it?" 
 
 [ 207 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Yes, I see," Bernard answered with the same 
 gentleness that had been in his voice before. "And 
 I see, too, what a weight it has been upon you, — 
 burdened with such an impossible task, and tormenting 
 yourself over it." 
 
 "No, I haven't tormented myself," she said. "I've 
 only felt as if I must make the attempt demanded of 
 me. And you know how ineffectual the effort has 
 been. I soon saw that nothing could change you, — 
 nothing at least that I could offer — " 
 
 "Nothing that any one could offer," he said. "And 
 what was the rest of Uncle Alexander's dream? If you 
 succeeded in reconverting me — in bringing me back, 
 as he would have said, from the 'errors of Rome,' — 
 what was to happen then? Were you bidden to share 
 your inheritance with me? How much my uncle must 
 Tiave forgotten about me before he could have dreamed 
 of such a thing!" 
 
 "He didn't dream of it," Honora declared. "He 
 made no such suggestion. All this is pure conjecture 
 on your part, and you are forcing me to talk of some- 
 thing of which I have no right to speak. It was a 
 matter that was to be a secret between us — between 
 him and me, — and now you have made me violate 
 his confidence!" 
 
 "Oh, no!" Bernard said. "I have only guessed, 
 without any help from you, something which I might 
 have suspected from the first. And I am glad that I 
 have guessed it ; for I hope that I may be able to relieve 
 your mind of a weight that should never have been 
 laid upon it. I understand now why you have showed 
 so much interest in my conversion, — in learning what 
 hold my faith has upon me; and I think you must 
 
 f 208] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 be convinced that there is no ground to hope that 
 I could be induced to give it up for any earthly- 
 consideration." 
 
 Meeting his eyes, filled with that inner light which 
 she had seen in them once or twice before, she felt 
 indeed thoroughly certain that no earthly considera- 
 tion — neither wealth nor power, nor yet the love of a 
 woman, as his uncle had hoped — could turn him from 
 the faith which had been revealed to him, as to so 
 many others down the long ages, in its meaning of 
 sacrifice. A sharp pang — was it of envy? — contracted 
 her heart, and it was a minute before she could control 
 her voice sufficiently to say quietly: 
 
 "You are right. I was fully convinced the last 
 time that I talked to you on the subject that you 
 would never change; and I felt also how inadequately 
 I was equipped to attempt to change you. What had 
 I to offer in exchange for your faith— the faith for 
 which you had paid so dearly? I realized my own 
 spiritual poverty, as I had never realized it before, 
 when you asked what I would propose as an equivalent 
 for what you possessed. I knew that I had nothing 
 to propose — absolutely nothing, — and that my pre- 
 sumption was equal to my inadequacy. Then I made 
 up my mind that I couldn't make any further effort 
 to do what had been asked of me. It was not only 
 useless — it was not only that I realized that I had 
 no power at all to influence you, — but I had reached 
 a point where I ceased to desire to influence you; for 
 I felt that you possessed something which it was a 
 terrible thing even to try to tempt you to relinquish." 
 
 Her voice fell, and again there was silence about 
 them, — silence in which Bernard felt his own heart 
 
 [ 209 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 beating painfully. For what did this comprehension 
 on her part signify, except that some gleam of the 
 light of faith had fallen upon her also? And what 
 could that mean other than a struggle, a temptation, 
 and a demanded choice to which his own had been 
 as nothing? He w r as suddenly frightened at the vision 
 of what might lie before her, if the divine call which 
 he knew so well became insistent. And, before he 
 realized what he was doing, he found himself praying — 
 if strong desire be a prayer — that it might not be so, 
 that she might be spared so hard a trial. He rose 
 abruptly, and closed down the organ with a gesture 
 of finality. 
 
 "I am glad you understand so well — I mean about 
 my position," he said. "It's really very clear, although 
 my poor uncle could never comprehend it, — never be 
 brought to see that it was founded on something 
 altogether unalterable. He hoped— evidently to the 
 last — that I might change again. And so he burdened 
 you with an impossible task. What a wild, what an 
 utterly inexplicable idea on his part it was!" 
 
 But as he stared at her, lost in wonder at this 
 inexplicable idea, he saw T the blood mount again to 
 her face in a sudden tide, and the meaning of all that 
 his uncle had hoped and planned flashed upon him. 
 Yes, it was quite clear. All else having failed, the 
 old man had deliberately arranged a supreme and, 
 as he hoped, irresistible temptation for him. Wealth 
 alone had proved insufficient to move him; well, then, 
 let the attractions of a woman be thrown into the 
 balance also. This was why the fortune that should 
 have been his was put into the hands of a girl. He 
 remembered a suggestion of Miss Rainesford's to that 
 
 [ 210] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 effect, at which he had laughed, telling her that his 
 uncle was not likely to have indulged in romantic 
 scheming. But now he saw that he had done so, — 
 only it was not romantic scheming, but a somewhat 
 cynical calculation and building upon the force of the 
 two strongest passions of man's nature, cupidity and 
 love. Put them together (so he could hear the old 
 man saying to himself), and even the fascinations of 
 Rome must go down before them. Therefore he had 
 carefully selected a woman who, he believed, would 
 please Bernard's rather difficult taste; he had endowed 
 her with the fortune that should have been his, and 
 he had bidden her use every weapon in her power to 
 induce him to relinquish his religion. How she was 
 directed to reward him after this end had been accom- 
 plished, Bernard refused to consider; but he saw how 
 heavily the weight of the imposed task had lain upon 
 a sensitive conscience, and in his heart he cried re- 
 proachfully: "O Uncle Alexander, how could you 
 have done it!" 
 
 But even as these thoughts were passing through 
 his mind — very much more rapidly than they have 
 been set down here — Honora, with an instinct of 
 them, said hurriedly: 
 
 "I hope you are not thinking too hardly of your 
 uncle for giving me such a charge. If I could show 
 you his letter (which I can't, because he bids me keep 
 it secret, and I am sorry that you have guessed any- 
 thing about it), you would see how pathetic this last 
 effort of his was, — how entirely it was because he 
 loved and thought of you to the last, and strove to 
 find an instrument, however weak, to do his will after 
 he was dead." 
 
 [211] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "That was it— to do his will!" the young man 
 said a little bitterly. "Nothing else mattered. He 
 used you as a mere pawn for that end, never thinking 
 for a moment of how painful the position in which 
 he placed you might be. Of course if you had been like 
 other people — that is, like many other people — you 
 would have taken so impossible a charge lightlv 
 enough; you would have seen the futility and utter 
 unreasonableness of it, and put it aside, while you 
 enjoyed your inheritance care-free. But you are not 
 like that. Unfortunately, he chanced upon a very 
 sensitive instrument; and you have allowed yourself 
 to worry over the matter until even your sister has 
 perceived it." 
 
 "Has she, possibly, spoken to you of my worrying?" 
 
 "Yes, she spoke of it to me some time ago, asking 
 if I could throw any light on your singular attitude. 
 But I was stupid, and I couldn't — then." 
 
 "I am glad you couldn't. I should be sorry for 
 Cecily to know or guess anything about your uncle's 
 appeal to me. She would think me absolutely foolish 
 to heed it at all." 
 
 "And for once Cecily would be right," Bernard 
 said. "She can be trusted to grasp the common-sense 
 point of view; and you need to have that pressed upon 
 you. Failing Cecily, will you let me express it? Briefly, 
 then, you have faithfully endeavored to fulfil the task 
 my poor uncle was inconsiderate enough to lay upon 
 you; and, having learned its hopelessness, having 
 found me obstinate and immovable in my tabooed 
 religion, you can now enjoy your inheritance, as you 
 have not yet enjoyed it, with a conscience thoroughly 
 at rest. And I raav add that nothing could srivc 
 
 [ 212 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 me more pleasure than that you should do this." 
 
 She looked up at him as he stood before her holding 
 out his hand. And, as in the garden on that afternoon 
 when they talked last of his religion, he saw the leaf- 
 brown beauty of her eyes through a mist of crystal 
 tears. 
 
 "And while I take and enjoy all that should be 
 yours," she said, "what is left for you?" 
 
 His smile flashed at her now like sunshine; yet 
 he hesitated for an instant before answering — and 
 she could not resist the impression that he hesitated 
 through delicacy, as one who would not wish to boast 
 of wealth before a pauper. Then: 
 
 ' ' I must not even try to tell you what is left for 
 me," he said gently. "It would — let me say it once 
 more — lead us too far. Only believe, for your own 
 comfort, that I am perfectly satisfied, and that sym- 
 pathy is quite thrown away on me. Nevertheless, I 
 am grateful for yours; and so" (he lifted her hand and 
 touched the fingers lightly with his lips) "thanks and 
 good-by!" 
 
 [213] 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING the very clear under- 
 standing between Cecily and Julian Page — or 
 perhaps because of that understanding, — their 
 intimacy, which Cecily preferred to call their cama- 
 raderie, had not lessened in the least degree. Julian 
 remained as much her devoted admirer as ever, and 
 she was as frankly receptive of his devotion, — their 
 whole attitude being that of people who possessed in 
 common the knowledge of a very different world from 
 that in which they had met, as well as certain esoteric 
 ideas and standards which set them apart from the 
 old-fashioned society around them. 
 
 The Philistine bias of this society was indeed 
 strongly evidenced by the manner in which their inti- 
 macy was regarded. 
 
 "I suppose we shall have the announcement of 
 your son's engagement to the younger Miss Trezevant 
 very soon," her old friends frequently remarked to 
 Mrs. Page, who in reply would shake her head with 
 an enigmatic smile. 
 
 "I think not," she replied on one of these occasions. 
 "Julian only laughs when I speak of anything of the 
 kind, and says that I don't know the modern view of 
 the relations between young men and women. It seems 
 that they are allowed to be intimate friends without 
 an idea of — er — marrying; and it's considered very 
 narrow-minded to object to such intimacy." 
 
 [214] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I should call it simply flirtation," the friend, 
 who was outspoken as well as old-fashioned, observed. 
 "Men and women can't be made over again by any 
 modern views; and you can't turn an old thing into 
 a new one by giving it a new name. If those two are 
 not engaged, or going to be, they are just simply 
 flirting." 
 
 "Well, at least they know what they are about, 
 and neither is likely to harm the other," Mrs. Page 
 said, with a resigned sigh. "There's that good thing 
 about the modern sort of flirting, that they are quite 
 frank with each other. From what Julian says, I 
 fancy that he and Cecily Trezevant have had a per- 
 fectly clear understanding." 
 
 "An understanding of what kind, in the name of 
 conscience?" 
 
 "Well, that there's to be no question of marriage 
 between them, I suppose, — at least that's what I 
 infer from things he has let fall. It seems Cecily has 
 a very exalted idea of her capacities and deserts: she 
 thinks that she is so beautiful and so clever that, now 
 that she has money besides, she ought to make some 
 very brilliant marriage. And Julian is quite beneath 
 her notice." 
 
 "Set her up!" the indignant listener ejaculated. 
 "Her head is completely turned with vanity and 
 conceit. She's pretty enough, but no great beauty to 
 my mind; and the money isn't hers at all but her 
 sister's." 
 
 "Oh, she considers it the same as if it were hers! 
 And I suppose it is the same," Mrs. Page replied. 
 " Honora has no will of her own where Cecily is 
 concerned." 
 
 [215] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "She'd better develop one, if she doesn't want 
 ducks and drakes made of her fortune," the other 
 declared; "for everybody is talking of this girl's 
 extravagance. They say she spends money like 
 water." 
 
 "She has a very handsome allowance, and uses it 
 as she pleases," Mrs. Page explained. "But Alicia 
 says that she always gets a good return for what she 
 spends. She's really very shrewd; and, while I don't 
 like her as I like Honora, I can understand her charm. 
 But I wish Julian had never seen her!" the mother 
 ended, with another sigh. 
 
 And there was reason enough for this wish, from 
 Mrs. Page's point of view. Julian, in her opinion, 
 needed a steadying influence in his life; and when he 
 returned home from that art existence abroad which 
 she had so deeply distrusted, she hoped that this 
 influence might be found in some one of the girls of 
 his native place, who had been reared in the old 
 traditions so dear to her heart. But she soon perceived 
 that, except in a very light and transitory fashion, 
 these girls did not attract Julian's errant fancy. Taxed 
 with this, he acknowledged that they lacked a flavor 
 which his sophisticated taste demanded. "They are 
 pretty and refined, and natural as flowers," he said. 
 "But they don't know anything about my world, and 
 I couldn't live in theirs. So there you are! They are 
 provincial in taste and type, and I'm — er — cosmo- 
 politan, you see." 
 
 "You're impertinent and spoiled, and the girls are 
 ever so much too goo d for you!" Alicia told him with 
 ruffled plumage, like a small bird up in ar ms for its 
 companions. 
 
 [216] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "No doubt they are, and that is just what's the 
 matter," he laughed. "Insipid food may be very 
 healthful, but it's not stimulating to the palate after 
 one has known highly spiced and seasoned dishes; 
 or, to make another comparison, these girls are like 
 milk and water, and I want — oh, I want champagne!" 
 
 Alicia eyed him disapprovingly. 
 
 "It sounds very dissipated," she observed severely. 
 "I think the champagne would be likely to go to your 
 head." 
 
 "The sooner the better!" he responded fervently. 
 
 And the champagne not only arrived, but mounted 
 to his head with amazing quickness, when Cecily 
 appeared, — Cecily with her flavor of the world he 
 loved and longed for, with a beauty that fascinated 
 all the artist in him, and a charm as subtle, as full 
 of infinite variety as that (the comparison was his) 
 of the "serpent of old Nile," the eternal type of the 
 enchantress of the souls of men. 
 
 As may readily be perceived, much of this was 
 exaggeration; for Cecily, with all her power to charm, 
 was by no means a Cleopatra. But an artist in love 
 is even more prone to exaggerate than other men in 
 the same condition. And Cecily, having nothing else 
 of interest to do — since Bernard Chisholm proved 
 strangely insensible to her charms, — found amusement 
 in alternately enchanting and tormenting the young 
 man with whom she had so much in common, and 
 who really attracted her more than she would confess 
 to herself, much less to him. For they were of the 
 same world; they talked in a language which was 
 largely unintelligible to those around them; and, 
 since she had been perfectly explicit with him, and he 
 
 [ 217 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 was thoroughly aware of her plan of life, she saw no 
 reason for deferring to the prejudices of his narrow- 
 minded relatives and friends, so far as their intimacv 
 was concerned. 
 
 It came to pass very naturally, therefore, that 
 when Mr. and Mrs. Robert Selwyn were planning for 
 an automobile trip through the beautiful mountain 
 region of the Blue Ridge, they should have thought of 
 inviting Julian and Cecily to accompany them, and 
 that both of the latter should have accepted with 
 enthusiasm. To Julian it was an altogether delightful 
 opportunity for artistic work, and for the unrestricted 
 enjoyment of Cecily's society; while Cecily herself, 
 avid for pleasure of any kind, told Honora that she 
 considered the arrangement quite perfect. 
 
 "The Selwyns are really charming people," she 
 said; "and I'm sure we shall have a most delightful 
 trip, breaking it when and where we please; and 
 especially by a few weeks at Lake Toxaway, where 
 Julian is making plans to do an immense amount of 
 sketching. Edith says the party will be very dis- 
 tinguished, with an artist along, and — er — " 
 
 "Don't be modest!" Honora laughed. "For what 
 part are you cast?" 
 
 "Oh, 'the beautiful Miss Trezevant,' of course!" 
 Cecily laughed in turn. "It's wonderful how one is 
 appreciated when one's qualities of beauty, or whatever 
 else they may be, are set in a frame of gold! There's 
 no good in being cynical, however. One must take the 
 world as one finds it, and I find it a very agreeable place 
 since we have had plenty of money. O Honora, isn't 
 it like an awful dream, to remember that narrow, 
 struggling life of poverty, with never a gleam of 
 
 [218] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 pleasure or hint of luxury, that we lived in New 
 York 5 " 
 
 Honora looked at her with a sudden gravity on her 
 face. 
 
 'Yes," she said, "it is dreadful to think of; but 
 it would be more dreadful still if this were the dream 
 and we had to go back to the other." 
 
 "Go back to it!" Cecily echoed the words in a 
 key of angry amazement. "What do you mean? How 
 could we have to go back to it?" 
 
 "We couldn't," Honora assured her hastily. "I 
 was only wondering — what you would do in such a 
 case?" 
 
 "I should kill myself," replied Cecily, promptly. 
 "You needn't have any doubt about that. But what 
 is the sense of such disagreeable and preposterous 
 suggestions?" 
 
 "Isn't it good for us to contrast sometimes the 
 present with the past?" 
 
 "No, it isn't," Cecily contradicted, unmindful of 
 the fact that she had introduced the distasteful subject. 
 "It's never good to think of detestable things, and 
 what on earth is so detestable as poverty. You're 
 morbid, Honora,— positively morbid! I've told you 
 so before, and I'm certain that the sooner we get away 
 from this place the better." 
 
 "What influence do you think there is in this place 
 to make me morbid 5 " Honora inquired. 
 
 "I don't know," Cecily replied; "but I haven't 
 any doubt of the fact that you are morbid." She 
 paused, and considered the other for a moment with 
 bright, keen eyes, in which there was a gleam of dis- 
 trust. "I'm rather sorry to leave you here alone while 
 
 [219] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 I go on this trip with the Selwyns," she then said. 
 "But I hope you will occupy the time by getting ready 
 for our departure as soon as possible after I return. 
 Do finish all that stupid work about the factories, — 
 or, better yet, put it all in Bernard Chisholm's hands, 
 and arrange everything so that we can get off without 
 delay. And, in making your arrangements, don't 
 forget that we are not going on a sight-seeing tour or 
 anything of that kind: we are going to stay as long as 
 we please, and, so far as I am concerned, I think that 
 will be altogether; for I intend to become one of the 
 much talked-of American women who marry men of 
 rank and live abroad." 
 
 "Have you told Julian Page of your intentions?" 
 
 "As much as concerns him. He knows perfectly 
 well that I haven't the faintest intention of marrying 
 mm. 
 
 "Then I must say that I think you are acting 
 very badly in letting him be as devoted to you as 
 he is, and in going on this journey, where you will 
 be thrown with him so constantly." 
 
 Cecily opened her pansy eyes very wide. 
 
 "How utterly absurd!" she remarked. "Upon my 
 weed, you are as old-fashioned in your ideas as if you 
 had been brought up in Kingsford by — by Cousin 
 Mary Page!" 
 
 "I might be many worse things than old-fashioned," 
 Honora replied with spirit. "And I don't think any 
 fashion, new or old, excuses playing with a man's heart 
 for amusement." 
 
 "My dear, you are really too ridiculous! Julian 
 is a modern man, as I am a modern woman, and under- 
 stands the situation as well as I do. He would only 
 
 [ 220 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 laugh at the idea of your wasting sympathy on him, 
 and he'd be very sorry if I became so considerate of 
 his heart as to deprive him of any of my society while 
 he can still enjoy it." 
 
 "And you are planning that he shall soon lose it 
 altogether! Cecily, I don't understand how you can 
 be so heartless." 
 
 "You mean that you don't understand why I'm 
 not as sentimental as you are," Cecily returned, in 
 a tone of unmistakable contempt for all sentimentality, 
 past, present, or to come. "Well, I couldn't make 
 you understand if I talked all day. So why talk at all? 
 My wings are spread for a wide flight into the world — 
 the enchanting, distant, great world, — and not a 
 hundred Julian Pages could hold me back. He's really 
 very attractive, though," she added reflectively, "and 
 I shall enjoy this trip we are to take together very 
 much, — we are so thoroughly sympathetic in our tastes 
 and ideas." 
 
 "Cecily, why shouldn't you marry him?" Honora 
 asked desperately. "It would be so suitable in every 
 respect." 
 
 "Do you think so?" It was a flash of scorn that 
 shone in Cecily's eyes now. "That only shows how 
 thoroughly commonplace you are in your ideas, and 
 how little you know me. Wait and see what I will 
 do with the unique opportunity fortune has given 
 me; and then you will appreciate the absurdity of 
 suggesting that I should throw it away by marrying 
 Julian Page." 
 
 "I really think," said Honora, "that you are dis- 
 tracted with ambition and vanity, and — and it makes 
 me afraid, to hear you talk as you do!" 
 
 [ 221 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Afraid of what?" 
 
 "Of some terrible disappointment for you in the 
 way you've planned for yourself." 
 
 "Don't trouble about that!" Cecily's tone was 
 arrogant as well as scornful — and involuntarily she 
 glanced at the reflection of her brilliant beauty in a 
 mirror opposite. "I will take care that I am not 
 disappointed. Only stupid people allow things to go 
 wrong with them when they are equipped to succeed 
 as I am. Now, we won't discuss the matter further; 
 for I only shock you, and there's nothing gained by 
 that. To return to our mutton: I'm sure I shall have 
 a charming trip with the Selwyns. And meanwhile 
 why shouldn't you take our car and make a few excur- 
 sions on your own account? You can easily get up a 
 party, for everybody is wild about motoring." 
 
 "I will think of it," said Honora. 
 
 She thought of it to such purpose that, a day or 
 two after the departure of the Selwyn party in their 
 great touring car, she went to see Miss Rainesford, 
 and asked that lady if she would not like to make 
 an excursion with her into the picturesque mountain 
 region which lay so near to them. 
 
 "I shall be charmed to go," Miss Rainesford replied. 
 "I've always longed to set out in a motor car and 
 travel when and where I pleased. It's the absolutely 
 ideal way of seeing a country. And how lovely of you 
 to give me the opportunity at last!" 
 
 Honora had a swift thought of the motors (together 
 with all other signs and symbols of wealth) that would 
 have been at the speaker's command, had she followed 
 the easy road of worldly prudence and married the 
 
 [ 222 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 man who possessed them all, but who had refused to 
 make "the promises." 
 
 "I am so glad that you like the idea," she said. 
 "I hoped that you would, for I think we can make the 
 trip delightful. And would you mind not having any 
 one along beside ourselves?" 
 
 "My dear, that is what I would like of all things," 
 Miss Rainesford responded enthusiastically. "I can't 
 endure travelling parties, unless they are made up of 
 the choicest possible elements, — such elements as are 
 not easily brought together. Just you and I alone, 
 will be perfect." 
 
 'You see, other people might not care for the 
 same things that we would," Honora explained. "I 
 am going to let you plan the journey. We will go 
 where you please, and stay as long or as short a time 
 as you like. But there is one place I should like to 
 include in our itinerary, if you don't object." 
 
 "Imagine my objecting to any place you would 
 like to include! What is it?" 
 
 Honora hesitated for an instant, and then — 
 
 "Perhaps you'll think it odd," she said a little 
 deprecatingly, "but I have a great curiosity to see that 
 Benedictine Monastery of which you and . Bernard 
 Chisholm have talked, and where he was converted. 
 There's something very strange about the idea of such 
 a place in this country, — as if a bit of the Middle Ages 
 had been brought and set down in the most incongruous 
 surroundings of the modern world." 
 
 "I don't find anything odd in your desire to go 
 there," Miss Rainesford replied promptly. "Of course 
 it's interesting and piques curiosity immensely, the 
 idea of a Benedictine abbey in this intensely Protestant 
 
 [ 223 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 country. But you won't find anything incongruous 
 about it. The most remarkable thing that will strike 
 you is how much in place it seems, how thoroughly 
 it fits into its environment." 
 
 "Forgive me, but I can't believe that. It must 
 seem — archaic. Bernard himself said that to go there 
 was like stepping into another world." 
 
 "In the sense that he meant, it is another world: 
 it is the supernatural brought into the midst of the 
 purely natural. But it's as if it belonged there, — as 
 if it were a note which had been lacking all along, 
 but was now supplied; and, being supplied, harmony 
 results. You can't understand now what I mean, but 
 you'll see." 
 
 "Shall I?" Honora's eyes were very bright. "It 
 will interest me extremely. And we can go there, 
 then? Visitors are permitted?" 
 
 "Oh, yes! Visitors are received most courteously. 
 Hospitality is a Benedictine rule, you know. And I 
 suppose you would like to see something in the way 
 of a religious function, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "I should like it very much, and to hear some 
 music." 
 
 Miss Rainesford nodded approval. 
 
 "So should I," she said. "And, by a fortunate 
 chance, you have expressed the desire just at a time 
 when it is possible to gratify it. Next Thursday is 
 the Feast of Corpus Christi — but of course you don't 
 know anything about that?" 
 
 "Nothing in the world," Honora confessed. 
 "Perhaps you'll tell me what it is." 
 
 "I need only tell you what the name itself tells — 
 that it's the Feast of the Body of Christ: in other 
 
 [224] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 words, of the Blessed Sacrament. It's a wonderful 
 fete day in Catholic countries; but in this country 
 it is no longer of obligation, and is therefore observed 
 only in religious communities. I've heard that it is 
 beautifully celebrated at Belmont — that's the Abbey, — 
 and I've long wished I could go there for the occasion, 
 but it has never been possible for me to do so." 
 
 "I'm almost glad that it never has been," Honora 
 exclaimed, "since now I have the great pleasure of 
 rendering it easy for you to go, and of going with 
 you. Oh, do let us make our arrangements at once 
 to be at Belmont in good time for the celebration! 
 It is an opportunity such as I never expected to 
 have — here." 
 
 [225 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IT was a delightful country through which the car 
 was running so swiftly and smoothly on that 
 radiant June morning of the Feast of Corpus 
 Christi, — a softly rolling country of lovely greenness, 
 with spreading fields where the golden-headed wheat 
 stood ready for the reaping, or blades of young corn 
 were springing freshly out of the rich, brown earth. 
 There was a great sense of wide space everywhere. 
 The woods were wearing their luxuriant crowns of 
 full summer foliage; and the air was filled with the 
 songs of birds, which rose unceasingly toward the 
 sky of stainless sapphire. It was a day to make the 
 heart sing with the happiness of mere existence, — an 
 ideal day for speeding along level roads, flecked by 
 sunshine and shadow, through a land of smiling beauty. 
 And the two in Honora's luxurious car, who had spent 
 the night before in a near-by town, and were now, 
 in the early morning freshness, on their way to the 
 Abbey of Belmont, looked at each other with pleasure 
 too deep for words. 
 
 "Isn't it heavenly?" Honora asked. "Have you 
 ever before felt so grateful for being alive, — just simply 
 alive?" 
 
 "And for all that being alive implies," Miss Raines- 
 ford assented. "And it implies a great deal to-day; 
 
 [226] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 for I'm thinking of what is going on, spiritually, all 
 over the world, — of the many places where the Lord 
 who created the earth, and the beauty thereof, is being 
 borne out, with pomp and solemnity, to bless its fairness, 
 as well as to receive the homage of men. You've never 
 seen a Corpus Christi procession, have you?" 
 
 Honora shook her head. 
 
 "How should I?" she replied. 
 
 Miss Rainesford drew in her breath. 
 
 "Then there's a wonderful experience before you 
 to-day," she said. 
 
 "You mean that the ceremonies we are to witness 
 are so impressive?" 
 
 "Impressive, yes, and beautiful, and moving in 
 the deepest sense. I think you will find them all of 
 that. And I believe you may find them even more." 
 
 Honora gave her a quick glance. 
 
 "What more could I find them?" 
 
 "Ah, there is much more that you could find them!" 
 the other answered. "The beauty and the impressive- 
 ness are merely on the surface, for any one to perceive 
 who has eyes to see and an imagination to kindle. 
 But what lies beneath— what they are there to 
 indicate—" 
 
 She paused abruptly, as if fearing to say too much. 
 And to herself she was, in fact, saying, "Bernard 
 would tell me that I am doing wrong in bringing her 
 here on such an occasion, knowing that she is already 
 attracted and interested by the Church more than 
 she is aware. But I don't agree with him, — I don't! 
 He believes that it would be impossible for her to 
 make the sacrifice which conversion to the faith would 
 entail, and so he wants to shield her from suffering 
 
 [227] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 and struggle and responsibility. But I don't think 
 that one has the right to deprive a soul of the oppor- 
 tunity to make the supreme choice. She is entitled to 
 her chance; for what is any suffering, any struggle, 
 any sacrifice in comparison to what she would gain 
 if she were strong enough to choose rightly? I suppose 
 it is too much to expect that she would, that she could, 
 pay the price demanded; but she shall have her 
 chance, — she shall! And, after all, it wasn't I who 
 proposed our coming here." 
 
 "It was you who proposed and arranged the coming 
 to-day," an inner voice reminded her. 
 
 "Well, yes, I did as much as that," she acknowledged 
 to the monitor. "But there was no reason why I 
 shouldn't. She wanted to witness a religious function, 
 and I have long wanted to come here for Corpus Christi. 
 Why should I have denied both of us so much pleasure 
 on account of Bernard's scruples, which I don't share? — 
 Look, Honora!" she suddenly exclaimed aloud. "There 
 are the monastery buildings, and you can see the spires 
 of the church!" 
 
 Honora looked eagerly in the direction indicated, 
 and saw a great mass of stately buildings set on a 
 wide, level plateau in the midst of verdure, of leafy 
 avenues and great forest oaks; and, as the dominating 
 note of the picture, a Gothic church of imposing design, 
 lifting its cross-crowned spires toward the deep-blue 
 Carolina sky, while at this moment its bells broke 
 forth in summoning peal. 
 
 "We are just in time for Mass," said Miss Rainesford; 
 and bade the chauffeur, instead of turning into the 
 avenue which led to the entrance of the college, drive 
 on to the end of a broad, stone-paved walk which 
 
 [228I 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 extended from the highway to the door of the church. 
 
 A singular feeling came over Honora when they 
 entered the church a few minutes later, — a feeling 
 less of surprise for its stately proportions, its beautiful 
 stained glass, and elaborately decorated altar, than 
 of a strange familiarity, — as if, after long absence, she 
 had returned to a place which was the native land 
 of her soul, and which welcomed her with an atmos- 
 phere which she had not felt since she went out from 
 the church of St. Paul the Apostle on the day she 
 heard of her unexpected inheritance. 
 
 She followed Miss Rainesford, and sat down in a 
 seat, her eyes fastened on the lamp — burning like the 
 lamp she remembered in that other church — before 
 the altar; and again there came over her the con- 
 sciousness of a Presence, of something warm, welcoming, 
 personal, which banished all sense of coldness and 
 emptiness from the building. And then some words 
 of Bernard Chisholm recurred to her: "The church 
 simply wasn't empty: the Blessed Sacrament was 
 there." Yes, it must be that, — that was what made 
 the difference between Catholic churches and all others. 
 But even if the Blessed Sacrament were there, why, 
 in God's name, should she be so conscious of Its 
 presence, — she who did not believe that It was more 
 than a symbol and commemoration of an event which 
 occurred nearly two thousand years ago? 
 
 It was a relief from any attempt to answer the 
 question, that her attention was now diverted by a 
 stir of movement around her. There was a flutter 
 of white veils on childish heads, a glimpse of grave 
 childish faces, of baskets of flowers carried in small 
 
 [229] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 hands, and filling the already flower-scented church 
 with fresh fragrance; then came files of older girls; 
 then black-robed Sisters from the convent near by, 
 and following them the congregation streaming in. 
 A moment later the organ pealed out; the clear, 
 thrilling voices of boy sopranos rose; a procession in 
 glittering robes entered the sanctuary, and the Mass 
 of Corpus Christi began. 
 
 And then Honora forgot everything else in trying 
 to follow and understand this strange rite, which 
 proceeded in such ordered solemnity, with movements 
 and gestures that seemed to carry the mind back to 
 the beginning of the world, — to strange altars in 
 strange, wild places in the early twilight of human 
 history; to sacrifices, "oblations of whole burnt offer- 
 ings," from which rose a smoke of propitiation toward 
 Heaven, even as the white clouds of incense were 
 curling up in the sanctuary now. And, thanks to 
 Bernard's instructions, the music served as an inter- 
 pretation of what she might else have failed entirely 
 to comprehend. It was like a voice speaking in majestic 
 harmonies, and explaining the great act of worship 
 taking place before her. That she understood it fully 
 is, of course, too much to say; but, whether through 
 the music or by some inward illumination, she grasped 
 at least the essential meaning, the significance of 
 ceremonies which are ordinarily quite meaningless to 
 the uninstructed Protestant. Uninstructed in any 
 true sense, Honora surely was; but just now something 
 seemed to supply the place of instruction: she was 
 conscious of a need in herself, which unaccountably 
 responded to what was offered here, of finding, for the 
 first time in her life, a worship which expressed, at 
 
 [ 230] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the same time that it satisfied, the yearning and aspi- 
 ration of the soul. 
 
 But now the Mass was ended, and there was another 
 movement about the altar. A great, golden osten- 
 sorium, with sunlike rays, was brought forward. The 
 white-veiled children, with flowers to scatter before 
 the Sacred Host; acolytes with lighted candles; the 
 censer-bearer with his smoking censer; the choir; 
 the long train of priests, ending with the stately form 
 of the Abbot-Bishop, looking as if he had stepped out 
 of a painting by one of the old masters, — all these 
 grouped and fell into their appointed places about 
 that swaying canopy, under which there walked a 
 priest in shining cope, a richly embroidered scarf about 
 his shoulders, bearing the gleaming ostensorium, in the 
 small central disk of which shone Something strangely, 
 almost transparently white, at which Honora gazed 
 with wide, wondering eyes as It passed, with clouds 
 of fragrant incense rising before It, with lights and 
 bells and scattered blossoms, while the solemn and 
 glorious hymn of the ages rose in swelling chorus: 
 
 Pange, lingua, gloriosi 
 Corporis mysterium. 
 
 As in a dream, Honora followed the procession 
 which swept out of the church into the sunlight of the 
 beautiful June day. It surely was a dream, this thrilling 
 scene of religious worship and religious pageant, — a 
 scene which might have been in place in Spain or 
 Italy, but that seemed strange and alien beyond the 
 power of words to express in this remote part of the 
 most Protestant country left in the world. And yet 
 she had a singular feeling that, strange as it was to 
 every ideal of faith and worship which had existed here 
 
 [ 231 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 since white men first came to the shores of America, 
 it was not alien: on the contrary, it was as if a king, 
 long banished from his rightful kingdom, had come 
 at last to take possession of it in triumph. For what 
 could more strikingly convey the sense of triumph 
 than this procession, as of a sovereign's entry into 
 his own ? Here were all the symbols of supreme honor, — 
 the pealing bells flinging their joyous notes far and 
 wide over the smiling land, the swelling music, the 
 gleaming lights, the clouds of incense mounting Heaven- 
 ward. And this not in any confined space — not under 
 the roof of any building, however vast, — but out in 
 the open air, under the broad sky, in the brilliant 
 sunshine. 
 
 And they who were conducting this procession, 
 these surpliced priests and black-robed monks, were 
 well used to leading such triumphs; for had they 
 not, in the persons of their spiritual fathers, led the 
 vanguard of the conquering hosts of Christ into every 
 land of Europe, planted the Cross, planted also law, 
 order and civilization, and out of pagan tribes formed 
 the mighty nations of Christendom? Like most of 
 those who have been reared in the narrow culture of 
 Protestantism, Honora knew little or nothing of the 
 true history of the modern world, and absolutely 
 nothing of the formative influence exerted upon this 
 world by the Church through her monastic Orders, 
 and particularly through the pioneer and leader of 
 all, the great Order of St. Benedict. She did not, 
 therefore, know how altogether fitting it was that the 
 sons of those who had carried the faith into every 
 corner of the Old World should now lead the same 
 conquering march in this new land, settled by the 
 
 [ 232 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 descendants of those whom, in ages past, they had 
 won from paganism, and whom it was now their harder 
 task to win from the modern paganism which is the 
 soul-destroying result of heresy. And they were bearing 
 with them — they were carrying out to-day, that He 
 might take possession of His own — One who had pur- 
 chased His supreme right to men's souls by His death 
 "beyond the city walls" on that spring day long 
 ago! 
 
 Ignorant as she was, with the pathetic ignorance 
 of those outside the Church — those who have never 
 looked at any question, either temporal or spiritual 
 from the true angle of vision, — some dim instinct of 
 these things was borne to Honora, as she walked beside 
 her companion, as she saw the swaying golden canopy 
 far ahead, gleaming in the sunlight, and caught the 
 deep-toned, swelling music. 
 
 And now the procession had passed far beyond the 
 church, along the rose-edged paths of the flower-set 
 space between the college and the monastery, and 
 was descending — a marvellous scene indeed — a pictur- 
 esque flight of stone steps into a deep green dell, where 
 slender trees lifted their wealth of fresh foliage, where 
 birds were singing an exquisite welcome, where a 
 stream flowed in crystal clearness from a gushing spring, 
 over which stood a shrine and statue of St. Wal- 
 burga, and where on one side a hill rose steeply, and, 
 in an ivy-draped niche among the rocks, a statue of 
 Our Lady of Lourdes was enthroned, even as she is 
 enthroned among the rocks of Massabielle. Beneath 
 was an altar where (Miss Rainesford whispered) Mass 
 was said every morning during the month of May; 
 
 [ 233 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 and on this altar, now blazing with lights, the Blessed 
 Sacrament was deposited for adoration. 
 
 Once more white clouds of incense rose, the choir 
 broke into fresh song, and over the level, tree-shaded 
 space between the hillside and the stream, the people 
 knelt, behind the long train of ecclesiastics and religious. 
 Honora knelt with the rest; and Miss Rainesford, 
 glancing at her, saw that her face wore an expression 
 of rapt emotion. Her eyes, large and brilliant beyond 
 their ordinary seeming, were fastened on the white 
 Host in the ostensorium, as if in wonder tinged with 
 awe and also with questioning. Then came the moment 
 of Benediction. The golden monstrance was lifted up, 
 a great Sign of the Cross was made over the bent 
 heads of the multitude, over the earth which God had 
 made so fair, over the green trees, the flowing water, 
 the singing birds, beloved of St. Francis; and then, 
 as with a great burst, the Laudate Dominum rose, the 
 procession rose also, and took its way across the rustic 
 bridge which spanned the stream; and still singing, 
 still bidding not only all people but all things to join 
 in praising the Lord, mounted the hill beyond, and 
 wound over a plateau set with tall pines. 
 
 Honora drew a deep breath when, at the end of the 
 line of climbing figures, she reached the summit of 
 the hill; and all her childhood seemed to meet her 
 in the scented breath of the pines, in the straight 
 brown stems, with the sunlight falling upon them, and 
 the straw-colored needles covering the earth beneath. 
 How many Carolina highlands like this had she not 
 seen and known, but when ever before for the setting 
 of such a picture as that before her now? A wonderful 
 picture surely, as the procession wound over the level 
 
 [234] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 upland, the white-veiled children scattering flowers, 
 the acolytes with their candles and bells, the golden- 
 vested priest, the canopy covering the Presence; and 
 all around the wide silence of the country, the solemn 
 pines, and the far blue heaven above. And then in 
 the midst of the woods they came upon an open space, 
 and an altar stood decorated, lighted, ready for the 
 Benediction to come. And here again the incensing, 
 the singing, and the ostensorium flashing in the sun- 
 light as the blessing was given once more. Then 
 back along a woodland avenue under the sentinel 
 pines, with the same music, flowers, lights and bells; 
 down the hillside to the green, leafy dell, where Mary 
 looked smiling from her high niche among the rocks; 
 across the stream, up the picturesque stone stairway 
 which led to the wide level space where the great 
 cluster of buildings stood; along the rose-hedged paths, 
 and so again into the church. 
 
 It was after the procession had once more swept 
 into the waiting sanctuary, when the organ had again 
 sent forth its deep music, the thrilling voices risen 
 in the glorious Latin hymns, and amid the same 
 accompaniment of flowers, lights and incense, the 
 final Benediction had been given, that Honora felt 
 suddenly the reaction from the intense emotion to which 
 she had been keyed. Up to this moment she had been 
 overwhelmed, absorbed by the experience through 
 which she was passing; she had had no thought for 
 anything but this marvellous "ceremony," so strange, 
 so novel, so satisfying to the instincts of human nature, 
 which clamor to know and worship God; this beauty 
 so moving through its appeal to all the senses; this 
 
 [ 235] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 pageantry that, with its deep significance, its divine 
 poetry, touches the deepest founts of emotion, and 
 lifts the soul upward in a passion of adoration. 
 
 All this she had felt: it had taken possession of 
 her, and banished every other thought. Indescribably 
 carried out of herself, touched, moved and melted, 
 she had followed the crowd of worshippers, had knelt 
 with them, and been conscious of an overwhelming 
 influence which seemed to emanate from the white 
 Host uplifted in benediction. But now suddenly all 
 this exaltation of feeling died away, the emotions 
 relaxed like the strings of an instrument that had 
 been too highly keyed: she was conscious of a sense 
 of flatness, of depression almost like despair; and, 
 rising abruptly from her knees, she sat down. 
 
 For a moment she had a feeling of something 
 curiously like resentment, as if she had been moved 
 and impressed against her judgment. "Don't be de- 
 ceived!" something seemed to be whispering to her. 
 "It was a purely emotional effect. Oh, they know how 
 to play upon the emotions, these Catholics! They 
 enlist every means— music, color, poetry, the charm 
 of ordered, splendid pageantry, — but that is all. It 
 is merely an appeal to the emotions." That God 
 Himself had been carried out in the procession to bless 
 His world was, she said to herself, too stupendously 
 unbelievable to be credited. That for one moment it 
 had seemed compellingly credible, was due no doubt 
 to the contagion of the great wave of faith around 
 her, — the atmosphere created by a multitude of ardent, 
 believing souls. It was a faith which carried people 
 away from all their moorings, and inspired a wild 
 fanaticism of sacrifice. But neither such faith nor 
 
 [236] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 such sacrifice was possible for her; so she had been 
 mad to come here, and, yielding to a mysterious attrac- 
 tion, expose herself to a danger she now understood. 
 Well, at least she did understand it at last; and, so 
 understanding, would go as quickly as possible. 
 
 When Miss Rainesford presently finished her prayers 
 and looked around at her companion, she was pain- 
 fully struck by the whiteness of the girl's face. 
 
 "Are you feeling ill?" she whispered quickly. "No?" 
 (as Honora shook her head.) "Then I'm afraid you are 
 very tired." 
 
 "I am tired," Honora confessed. "If you don't 
 mind, I should like to get away as soon as possible." 
 
 "But," Miss Rainesford objected when a minute 
 later they stood outside the door of the church, "I 
 thought we were to spend a little time here. I wanted 
 you to meet some of the Fathers, who are Bernard's 
 friends and mine; and perhaps the Bishop himself — " 
 
 But Honora put out her hand and drew her insist- 
 ently away toward the car waiting for them at the 
 end of the walk. 
 
 "No, no!" she almost gasped in her eagerness. "I 
 beg you let us go at once. I can stand no more to-day." 
 
 [237 ] 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THAT a change of some kind had taken place 
 in Honora, was perceptible to everyone who 
 knew her, when she returned from her motor- 
 trip with Miss Rainesford. It was a subtle but none 
 the less decided change, as was evidenced by the fact 
 that two such dissimilar persons as Mr. Maxwell and 
 Alicia Page both remarked it. 
 
 "It's rather odd," Alicia said to her mother, "but 
 during her absence Honora appears to have changed 
 completely about their plan of going abroad. You 
 know that up to this time she hasn't really wanted to 
 go at all: it was Cecily who forced the idea on her; 
 but since her return she seems positively anxious to 
 get away, and has begun to make preparations for 
 departure as if she were in feverish haste to leave 
 Kingsford." 
 
 "It is odd," Mrs. Page agreed. "What do you 
 think could have occurred to produce such a change? 
 Could anything disagreeable have happened to her, 
 do you suppose?" 
 
 "I don't see how anything could," Alicia replied. 
 "Everybody likes her — that is, so far as people know 
 her, — and she has really very little to do with any 
 one except Miss Rainesford and Bernard Chisholm." 
 
 "And you don't think that Bernard might possibly 
 have— er?" 
 
 [238] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Bernard!" Alicia's tone expressed scorn in a 
 high key. "Why, he has from the first been perfectly 
 chivalrous to her ! ' ' 
 
 "Oh, I don't doubt that!" Mrs. Page explained 
 hastily. "Bernard couldn't be anything else to any 
 one. But if he fell in love with her, and she knew it 
 and didn't want to marry him, it might account for 
 her desire to go away, mightn't it?" 
 
 "Mother!" Alicia's tone was now fairly stern. 
 "What an imagination you have! How could you 
 think such a thing of Bernard?" 
 
 "I'm sure there's nothing dreadful in it," Mrs. 
 Page deprecated. "There's no reason why he shouldn't 
 fall in love with her: she is not so pretty as Cecily, 
 but to my mind much more attractive. And if they 
 married, it would settle about the fortune very nicely." 
 
 "Bernard would never dream of asking Honora to 
 marry him while she has his uncle's fortune," Alicia 
 declared almost fiercely. "I know him well enough to 
 be certain of that." 
 
 "Well, I don't see why the fortune should be an 
 obstacle, if they cared for each other," Mrs. Page 
 stated calmly. "But, then, I don't pretend to under- 
 stand Bernard, who has already acted in so peculiar 
 a manner; and Honora must be almost as peculiar 
 as he is. At least she is very reserved, and I always 
 distrust reserved people." 
 
 "They are inclined to be secretive," Alicia admitted; 
 "and Honora is very secretive at present about what 
 has changed her so much with regard to going abroad. 
 I've tried to find out what it is, but she says only that 
 there is no duty to detain her here, and that she wants 
 to gratify Cecily." 
 
 [239] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 'That's the whole explanation, I fancy," Mrs. 
 
 Page observed, with an air of dismissing the subject. 
 
 'There's probably no mystery about it. She simply 
 
 wants to gratify Cecily, who cares for nothing under 
 
 heaven but gratifying herself." 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Maxwell also commented upon a 
 change in Honora which had struck him. 
 
 "Miss Trezevant has been long in rousing to a 
 realization of her inheritance, but it has apparently 
 come to her at last," he remarked to Bernard, when 
 the latter dropped into his office on business one day 
 soon after Honora's return. "Her attitude was for a 
 time quite extraordinary: she hardly seemed to take 
 hold of things with any sense of possession. It was 
 as if she had difficulty in believing that the property 
 really belonged to her. You may have noticed this?" 
 
 Bernard replied that he had noticed it. 
 
 "But I find a decided change in her now," the 
 lawyer went on. "She appears to have wakened to 
 a sense of ownership and responsibility, and she has 
 a really remarkable business head — for a woman. I 
 think I've mentioned that before; but I have been 
 particularly impressed with it in my late interviews 
 with her. I suppose you know that she is preparing 
 for an indefinite stay abroad. And while all the 
 arrangements she proposes to make about the business 
 of the estate are very good, I can see no reason for her 
 exiling herself in such a manner; can you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" Bernard answered. "I see very clearly 
 that her sister desires it." 
 
 "But why should she feel bound to leave all her 
 interests here because that very pretty and very selfish 
 girl wants to go to Europe to live? For I understand 
 
 [ 240] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 that's the idea, — they are to live abroad, not merely 
 to travel there." 
 
 "So I have understood also." 
 
 "Well, it's extremely foolish of Miss Trezevant; 
 and I think you ought to tell her so, and try to influ- 
 ence her to a more sensible decision. She has a great 
 respect for your opinion." 
 
 "I'm afraid that respect would hardly be strong 
 enough to influence her against Cecily's desires," 
 Bernard said, smiling. "At all events, I don't feel 
 inclined to subject it to the strain of trial. And nobody 
 can really judge what is best and wisest for another, 
 you know, — although we are all prone to think that 
 we can." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell snorted. 
 
 "I haven't the slightest doubt of my ability to 
 decide what is best and wisest in this case," he said. 
 "And I'm sorry that you are not willing to make an 
 effort to prevent such an egregious act of folly." 
 
 Bernard's dark eyes were very bright as he looked 
 at the speaker. 
 
 "Only a moment ago," he said, "you spoke of Miss 
 Trezevant's having a remarkable head for business. 
 Now, I think it is remarkable for other things beside 
 business; and I don't believe that she would decide 
 as she has decided in this matter without a strong 
 reason for that decision. This being so, I couldn't be 
 presumptuous enough to call it 'an egregious act of 
 folly' without knowing more about the motives which 
 have influenced her." 
 
 "I thought you said just now that her motive was 
 simply to please her sister." 
 
 "But we don't know what that may include. She 
 
 [241 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 may think it better for Cecily to have her own way— 
 and perhaps better for others, too. And if she did 
 think so, her own wishes wouldn't weigh a feather in 
 the balance, I can assure you." 
 
 "I can see that very plainly; but I regard it as 
 only another proof that too much altruism is as bad 
 as too much selfishness." 
 
 Bernard's smile flashed out again. 
 
 "Hardly 'as bad,'" he corrected; "but, I grant 
 you, often more unwise, according to the wisdom of 
 the world." 
 
 "The wisdom of the world is a very good standard 
 by which to try things," Mr. Maxwell observed dryly; 
 "although I'm aware that you don't think so." 
 
 "No, I don't think so," Bernard answered quietly; 
 and added to himself, "Thank God!" 
 
 Nevertheless, although he had defended Honora 
 against the strictures of the man of the world, he was 
 himself surprised and vaguely disturbed by that change 
 in her which others had noted, but which had hardly 
 been so evident to any one as to him. For ever since 
 her return he had been conscious of being, as it were, 
 held at arm's length by her: he had a feeling that she 
 was on guard against him — or was it against herself? — 
 and that when they were together she kept the con- 
 versation carefully on the surface, and evaded any- 
 thing likely to lead to a discussion of those deeper 
 issues of life concerning which she had up to this 
 time been so eagerly inquisitive. He was particularly 
 struck with this when he spoke of Belmont; and it 
 did not occur to him until afterward that she had not 
 spoken of her visit there at all. 
 
 "I was delighted to hear from Miss Helen that 
 
 [242 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 you were at the Abbey for Corpus Christi," he said. 
 "I'm sure you must have enjoyed the celebration 
 immensely." 
 
 "Oh, immensely!" she assented quickly, yet (he 
 felt instinctively) with some constraint. ' The place is 
 very interesting, and the services were most beautiful, — - 
 wonderfully beautiful indeed. I had no idea of seeing 
 anything so striking, and — er — extraordinary. I 
 wouldn't have missed it on any account, and I was 
 very glad Miss Rainesford suggested our stopping 
 there on that day." 
 
 "You gave her so much pleasure by stopping that 
 it was only fair you should have found some pleasure, 
 too," he said. "In all the liturgy of the Church there 
 is nothing more beautiful than the ceremonies of 
 Corpus Christi." 
 
 "I can well imagine that. They are so marvellously 
 picturesque and poetical, are they not?" 
 
 "And so much else besides," he said. "I think 
 you must have felt their deep, spiritual significance 
 and impressiveness." 
 
 "I — yes, I felt that in some degree," she answered 
 hesitatingly; "and Miss Rainesford kindly explained 
 the meaning of it all. Otherwise of course I should 
 not have understood. It would have been only a 
 wonderful pageant to me, — something which, in its 
 irresistible appeal to the emotions, I could never have 
 imagined if I had not seen it." 
 
 She paused, and her eyes grew retrospective in their 
 gaze, as if she saw again the procession, with its rich 
 colors and flashing gold, its lights, flowers, incense, 
 and music, and the mysterious Presence borne under 
 the canopy, as it wound in the sunlight down the 
 
 [ 243 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 gray stone steps that led into the leafy greenness of 
 the dell below, and the austere beauty of the pine- 
 clad uplands beyond. "It was a picture to remember 
 for a lifetime," she said, catching her breath. "I never 
 expect to see anything half so impressive again." 
 
 "You can see just such a procession on any feast 
 of Corpus Christi in any Catholic country," he told 
 her. "The ceremonies may differ slightly in detail, 
 but they are essentially the same everywhere." 
 
 "I shall never see them again," she said, with a 
 decision which startled him. Then, observing the 
 surprise on his face, she went on hastily, "I would 
 not like to spoil a perfect impression, and no other 
 Corpus Christi could ever be to me what the one at 
 Belmont was. You see, it wasn't only the novelty 
 of the ceremony, but it was also the fact of its being 
 there, which made it so — arresting. The whole place 
 was so wonderful in its atmosphere, its suggestion of 
 ideals that one thinks of as belonging to another age 
 and to distant countries. It made one realize that 
 they are, perhaps, for all ages and all countries. And 
 when the procession went out into the beautiful, silent 
 woods — not set and ordered grounds, but real woods, 
 with pine needles covering the ground — as if to take 
 possession of the land in the name of the Lord, there 
 was such a note of conquering triumph in it that it 
 fairly clutched the heart." 
 
 Involuntarily her hand went to her heart as she 
 spoke, and there was a light in her eyes which made 
 Bernard's heart for a moment leap up, though whether 
 in hope or fear he did not know. But the next instant 
 her eyes fell, as she seemed to grasp some steadying 
 recollection that had nearly escaped her. 
 
 [ 244 1 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "It was, of course, purely an emotional effect," 
 she said. "But it was quite wonderful as an experience, 
 and I am glad I have known it once. Such an effect 
 couldn't be renewed in another place, you know — 
 one couldn't get the same note of striking contrast 
 anywhere else, — and therefore I shall make no effort 
 to see another Corpus Christi celebration." 
 
 "You couldn't readily find another Belmont Abbey, 
 for it is in many respects quite unique," Bernard agreed. 
 "And that effect of contrast — of difference from the 
 world around it — of which you've spoken, would 
 necessarily strike you very much on your first visit. 
 I remember well how it struck me the first time I 
 was there." 
 
 "And has the impression worn off?" she asked. 
 Do you feel the sense of contrast no longer?" 
 
 "On the contrary, I feel it even more, but in a 
 different way. I realize even more clearly, — well, many 
 things." 
 
 He broke off abruptly, conscious for the first time 
 in his intercourse with her of an unsympathetic atmos- 
 phere. And she did not now talk of a door closed in 
 her face, and urge him to go on. He had indeed a 
 distinct impression that she was nervously aware of 
 danger behind that door, and that she was relieved 
 when, changing the subject, he began to speak of 
 something else. 
 
 It was the next morning that, as Miss Rainesford 
 came out from Mass, she found Bernard waiting for 
 her on the steps of the church; and they walked away 
 together in the early sunshine, under the leafy trees, 
 where unnumbered birds were filling the golden air 
 
 [245] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 with their melodious notes and eager twittering. 
 
 "Aren't they delicious?" Miss Rainesford exclaimed, 
 alluding to the birds. "What an exquisite accom- 
 paniment their singing made to the Mass! A glorious 
 red bird came, flaunted his plumage in the window 
 beside me, and poured out his heart in a jubilate just 
 at the Elevation. It was almost a distraction, and 
 yet how sweet!" 
 
 Bernard nodded a little absently. 
 
 "I heard him," he said. "He was in fine voice, 
 and meant everybody to know it. By the by, you 
 haven't told me anything about the music at Belmont 
 on Corpus Christi. Did you enjoy it?" 
 
 " Oh, extremely! The Mass was very finely rendered; 
 and, to my surprise, Honora not only enjoyed but 
 followed it intelligently. I suppose that was because 
 of all the Masses you have played for her." 
 
 "Very likely." Again he spoke absently; and 
 then, suddenly rousing to animation, "I wish you 
 would tell me," he said abruptly, "what occurred at 
 Belmont to make an impression upon Honora which 
 has changed her very much." 
 
 Miss Rainesford turned and met his eyes. 
 
 "So you've observed it!" she said. "I wondered 
 if you would." 
 
 "Of course I've observed it," he answered. "I've 
 felt a change in her ever since she returned; but I 
 wasn't sure until yesterday of its connection with 
 something which happened there. What was it? It's 
 not possible that any of the Fathers said anything 
 she didn't like?" 
 
 "My dear, haven't you understood that we didn't 
 meet any of the Fathers, not even your particular 
 
 [246] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 friend, the organist and choir director? She insisted 
 upon leaving the Abbey as soon as the services of the 
 church were over; and of course I couldn't refuse to 
 go, if for no other reason than that I was her guest, 
 and the car was hers." 
 
 "Did you propose remaining?" 
 
 "I asked if she would not like to meet some of the 
 Fathers and perhaps the Bishop, but she said ' No ' 
 very decidedly, and hurried away, as if in fear of being 
 detained. I think I would have remonstrated — for I 
 was extremely disappointed on my own account — 
 if she hadn't looked so pale and tired, and — er — 
 apprehensive." 
 
 "Apprehensive of what, in Heaven's name?" 
 
 Miss Rainesford spread out her hands in an elo- 
 quent gesture. 
 
 "Since you ask me," she replied, "I can only say 
 that I think she was apprehensive of some influence 
 on the part of Heaven itself." 
 
 "You mean—?" 
 
 "I mean that she had been intensely moved and 
 affected by the ceremonies. Once, when I looked around 
 at her, she was gazing at the Blessed Sacrament with 
 such dilated eyes, with such a strange, rapt expression 
 altogether, that I almost thought she saw something 
 more than the white host in the ostensorium. Well, 
 my opinion is that, having been so deeply affected, 
 she was afraid to trust herself any farther within the 
 atmosphere, and under the influences of the place. 
 She didn't want to meet anybody, especially any 
 priest. She just simply wanted to run away." 
 
 "And so you ran away?" 
 
 "Exactly. We ran away as fast as her high-power 
 car could take us." [ 247 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "But she must have made some explanation to 
 you." 
 
 "There you are mistaken. The change you have 
 observed in her began at that moment, and she made 
 no explanation, — I mean nothing which really explained. 
 She spoke of being tired and overdone, 'although it 
 had all been so beautiful and interesting,' and apologized 
 for taking me away so hurriedly; and I said that it 
 didn't matter, since we had accomplished what we 
 came for — and that was all. Everything she said was 
 purely conventional, and not in the least an expression 
 of what she really felt. And from that hour to this 
 she has told me no more." 
 
 "Did you try to obtain an explanation from her?" 
 
 "Not at all. I should have been very dull if I 
 had not perceived that she had no intention of speaking 
 frankly of any impression which had been made upon 
 her. In fact, there were only two impressions that 
 could have accounted for her conduct." 
 
 "And those were — ?" 
 
 "First, that she had been shocked and perhaps 
 revolted by what she had seen — the crude Protestant 
 view of the ceremonies as superstition, and all that 
 kind of thing. Now I know that was not what she 
 felt; for I could neither mistake nor forget the ex- 
 pression of her face of which I've already spoken. So 
 there remained the other — the possibility that the 
 Supernatural had manifested itself in a manner which 
 startled and frightened her. This is what I believe to 
 have occurred." 
 
 "You think—?" 
 
 "I think that the grace of faith was given to her 
 in a very direct and sensible manner, as she knelt 
 
 [248] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 before the Blessed Sacrament; and that when she 
 realized this, her overwhelming impulse was that of 
 flight. And that impulse continues still." 
 
 Nothing more was said for several minutes: they 
 walked silently, like people under the shadow of 
 tragedy, through the fresh morning beauty, full of 
 golden sunshine, green leaves, and singing birds; and 
 it was not until they were within sight of Miss Raines- 
 ford's house that Bernard said: 
 
 "I have been afraid of this ever since she told me 
 of the influence she once felt in a church in New York. 
 And, being afraid of it, I was sorry when I heard that 
 you had gone to Belmont." 
 
 "It wasn't my fault," Miss Rainesford said hastily. 
 "She spoke of it herself: she said that she particularly 
 wanted to go there, and it was quite clear that her 
 interest had been roused by what you told her of the 
 place." 
 
 "Yes: that was my fault," he confessed contritely. 
 "It's astonishing what a besetting snare egotism is. 
 And yet the subject came about naturally enough; 
 for I was talking of the fine music to be heard there, 
 and the music led to other things. But even if she 
 wanted to go, why should you have taken her on such 
 an occasion as the feast of Corpus Christi?" 
 
 " Rather, why shouldn't I? It was a perfect occasion 
 for her to hear something of the music you had praised, 
 to see beautiful and picturesque ceremonies impressively 
 carried out, and to enjoy an altogether unique 
 experience. I was sure she would enjoy it — from an 
 artistic standpoint, you know. She is so sensitively 
 alive to all beautiful things." 
 
 "And, unhappily, just as sensitively alive to spir- 
 
 [249] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 itual things, which is where the danger came in." 
 
 "I didn't realize the danger; or, if I did, to be 
 quite frank, I thought she ought to have her chance — 
 the chance to make il gran rifiuto. One has no right 
 to attempt to be wiser than God, and shield people 
 from the struggle that will try them." 
 
 "That's the heroic doctrine you have preached 
 from the first," Bernard said, as they paused at her 
 gate; "and I see that you have not hesitated to 
 practise as well as preach it. But you have forgotten 
 that there is one overwhelming reason why Honora 
 will never make the Great Refusal." 
 
 "I suppose you mean — ?" 
 
 He answered in three words, as he turned away: 
 
 "I mean— Cecily." 
 
 [250 j 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ON the same morning, and at the same time 
 that Miss Rainesford and Bernard Chisholm 
 were talking of Honora as they walked back 
 from Mass, the girl herself was standing at the window 
 of her bedroom, looking out over the green tops of 
 trees toward the town, with a deep longing in her 
 heart. What this longing was for, she did not know 
 exactly, or she refused to acknowledge; but she could 
 not doubt that, if she yielded to her inclination, she 
 would leave the house, follow the leafy road which led 
 from the hill downward to the river glancing in the 
 sunlight, and the streets beyond; that she would hurry 
 along these streets with other early pedestrians, and 
 end — where ? 
 
 It was the final question which held her motionless; 
 for well she knew where she would end, if she once 
 permitted herself to set out along the way her fancy 
 persistently followed. She was not quite sure that she 
 knew precisely where the Catholic church was — it had 
 been pointed out to her only once, as she drove past, 
 and she had thought it a very ordinary and rather ugly 
 edifice, — but she had not a doubt that her feet would 
 take her to it as unerringly as her heart had gone 
 already. 
 
 For that was where the trouble lay, — in the extraor- 
 dinary action of her heart, which seemed to be drawn 
 
 [251] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 out of her breast by an attraction too strong to be 
 resisted. She told herself that it was like hypnotism, 
 to which she had compared it on another occasion; 
 but it was in reality more like the violent, overmastering 
 passion which is called falling in love. There is nothing 
 in human experience more familiar to knowledge and 
 observation, nothing which has been more exhaustively 
 described by the poets of all ages, than this phenomenon, 
 in which eve^thing is for the time being subordinated 
 to, and overwhelmed by, the attraction which one 
 soul exercises over another; but the Catholic knows 
 that, taken at its point of highest intensity, it is but 
 a faint shadow and type of that supreme passion of 
 the love of God for which the soul of man was created. 
 The Catholic knows this; but it is, like many other 
 truths of faith, believed rather than apprehended by 
 actual experience; for, except in the case of those 
 who are called to a religious vocation, the Divine 
 Dover does not often make a sensible and imperious 
 demand upon the hearts that do not of their own 
 accord turn toward Him. But sometimes He conde- 
 scends to make this demand; and when He does, it 
 can not be mistaken. For it should never be forgotten 
 that Christ our Lord is no ethical abstraction, but a 
 living Personality, the most compelling and fascinating 
 of which history holds a record; and that His influence 
 is no less irresistible when He manifests it to-day than 
 it was when Saul fell, stricken by His voice, on the 
 road to Damascus. 
 
 Now, there can be no doubt that in a certain degree 
 He had manifested this attraction to the girl who, 
 weary and heavy-laden, had sought His Presence for 
 rest and refreshment, in New York. But it was much 
 
 [252] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 more strongly manifested on the day when she walked 
 in His triumphal procession at Belmont, and knelt on 
 her native soil for His benediction. Then indeed "heart 
 had spoken to heart"; then grace had touched her 
 like a two-edged sword, and she had forgotten every- 
 thing else in the marvel revealed to her. It was not 
 strange that, as Helen Rainesford had perceived, she 
 gazed like one in a trance at the Sacred Host enthroned 
 amid Its lights; for, while she saw nothing beyond the 
 white host in the lunette surrounded by golden rays, 
 she felt much that was indescribable : she was conscious 
 of an overpowering influence which drew her spirit 
 like a magnet; and not only did faith in the wonder 
 before her become entirely possible — nay, rather im- 
 possible to withhold, — but her soul was, as it were, 
 inundated by a tide of feeling which approached to 
 ecstasy, and she seemed to be borne upward by mighty 
 wings into a realm where neither doubt nor fear could 
 enter. 
 
 But when the moment of reaction came, she told 
 herself, and tried valiantly to believe, that all this 
 had been but the effect of imagination, of emotion 
 stimulated by every means of stimulation which could 
 be devised by consummate art, and by the "suggestion" 
 of the great. wave of faith beating around her. And she 
 had not only told herself this, but she had fled in absolute 
 fear from the place where the Supernatural had touched 
 her soul in such terrifying fashion. She had learned 
 a lesson of her own susceptibility to spiritual influences, 
 which she resolved should be a warning to her; and 
 she registered a vow never again to expose herself to 
 anything of the kind. 
 
 And as long as she had been travelling, seeing new 
 
 [253} 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 sights and absorbing new impressions, she had been 
 able to preserve this attitude of mind, — to put away 
 the thought of what she had felt at Belmont, and 
 to feel quite sure that it had revealed to her only an 
 unsuspected emotional weakness in her own nature, 
 against which she must be on guard. And on guard 
 she remained, to a degree which was, (as we have 
 seen) very evident to Miss Rainesford, and, by dint 
 of carefully avoiding any discussion of dangerous 
 subjects — that is, of religious beliefs and religious 
 ceremonies, — she managed to maintain a fair degree 
 of peace of mind until she returned home. 
 
 Then no sooner was she again in her own house 
 than what she felt to be an overwhelming temptation 
 assailed her. A desire which was like to, and yet greater 
 than, desire for the society of a beloved human being 
 came over her with almost irresistible force to seek 
 again the Presence in which her soul had once found 
 such rest, and later so mysterious a sense of happiness, 
 It was, though she was far indeed from being aware 
 of it, in some degree at least the same attraction which 
 many of God's chosen servants feel, and which draws 
 them to the altar where He abides, as the moon draws 
 the tides of the sea. 
 
 To Honora, however, knowing little and (she would 
 have said) believing less of this miracle of love, her 
 own feelings were at once a mystery and a torment. 
 Why, she demanded of herself vainly, should she have 
 this constant longing to go to the Catholic church? 
 It was not as if she had ever been a Catholic, or ever, 
 with one exception, frequented Catholic churches. 
 She had, indeed, gone to Belmont Abbey, but it was 
 merely as a sight-seer and tourist; she had accompanied 
 
 [254] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 the procession of Corpus Christi, but it was only to 
 witness something extraordinarily picturesque; she had 
 knelt when the Blessed Sacrament was raised in bene- 
 diction, but that was because it would have been the 
 extreme of bad manners to remain standing when 
 everyone around her was kneeling. Of course she had 
 been conscious of a curious emotion as she knelt; and 
 while she gazed, wide-eyed, there had flashed into her 
 memory some dimly remembered words: "And I, 
 being lifted up, will draw all things to Myself." Was 
 that why her heart felt so strangely drawn, and why 
 it now longed so restlessly to find itself again in that 
 Presence where yearning was satisfied, and desire sank 
 down with folded wings? 
 
 Well, it was clearly impossible that such a longing 
 should be gratified. It would be folly, and worse than 
 folly, for her to think of visiting the Catholic church 
 in Kingsford. Indeed, she was quite firmly resolved 
 that never, in any place or country, would she again 
 enter a church of that faith. A sense of honor which 
 was almost stern told her that this was obligatory 
 upon her as long as she enjoyed the fortune which 
 had been given to her on the condition that she had 
 nothing to do with Catholicity. To continue to enjoy 
 this fortune and at the same time to expose herself to 
 an attraction which she found almost irresistible would 
 be to violate the trust imposed, and take a base 
 advantage of the dead. 
 
 And as for that other trust committed to her — the 
 charge to bring Bernard back from the alien faith to 
 which he had wandered, — she wondered now that she 
 had ever been foolish enough to think for one moment 
 that such a thing was possible, and knew her effort 
 
 [255] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to fulfil the charge to have been as futile as it was 
 weak, and as absurd as it was presumptuous. For 
 what had she, or any one else, to offer Bernard Chisholm 
 in place of this religion, which was no mere formula of 
 tabulated beliefs, but a living force, seizing the human 
 soul by the power of its fascination, demanding the 
 heart, and giving strange illumination to the mind? 
 She asked the question with a sense of despair, which 
 was not altogether for her failure in the task com- 
 mitted to her, but which was also inspired by her 
 own position. For she realized with unmistakable 
 clearness that the choice which had been placed before 
 Bernard was now placed before herself, and that she 
 could not answer it as Bernard had answered. That 
 was impossible for her. If she stood alone in the world, 
 it might be possible. She felt instinctively within herself 
 the power to rise up, as he had risen, in answer to a 
 divine call, and to fling aside a fortune as so much 
 dross, even though she knew the dreadfulness of poverty 
 as it can be known only by experience. But since she 
 did not stand alone, this could never be. 
 
 To condemn Cecily again to the conditions of life 
 from which they had wondrously escaped, was not 
 to be thought of. Even the mere suggestion of such a 
 thing was like a dream of madness; for, apart from 
 the narrowness and bitterness of poverty, there were 
 the terrible dangers and temptations which would 
 await one so beautiful, and so wild with desire for the 
 fulness of life. To what degree of recklessness indeed 
 might Cecily not be driven if such a blow fell upon 
 her? Honora knew this well; and, knowing it, resolved 
 that, at whatever cost to herself, the blow should 
 never fall. And, since it must never fall, she, on her 
 
 [256] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 part, must close her mind and steel her heart against 
 the Presence which called her so ceaselessly, from a 
 church she had never entered, but which she visualized 
 as clearly in its essential details of the altar, the 
 tabernacle, and the ever-burning lamp, as if her bodily 
 eyes had rested on these things. 
 
 It was later on the same day that a little incident 
 occurred which, in the present state of Honora's mind, 
 assumed a significance that it would not have had at 
 another time. She was in the library looking for a 
 book with which to divert her attention from such 
 thoughts as those which have been partially recorded, 
 and feeling unaccountably averse to any of the hand- 
 somely bound volumes — mostly works of standard 
 authors — on the shelves before her, when, somewhat 
 to her surprise, Mrs. Kemp entered the room, a book 
 in her hand. They were very good friends by this 
 time, these two, and Honora turned around with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Kemp," she said, "did you have an 
 instinct that I was looking for something to read and 
 have you brought me something interesting?" 
 
 "I don't know whether or not it's interesting," 
 Mrs. Kemp replied; "but I've brought this book to 
 you, because it's one of Mr. Bernard's that he couldn't 
 find when he took all his other books away. He was 
 mightily worried about it, and asked me if it ever 
 turned up to take care of it and let him have it." 
 
 "And it has turned up! That's good," Honora 
 said. "Where did you find it?" 
 
 "In a very unlikely place, as one mostly does 
 find misplaced things," Mrs. Kemp answered. "I was 
 clearing out the closet in his room — I mean the room 
 
 [257] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 that used to be his,— and at the back of a shelf, behind 
 a lot of old things, I found it. So I thought I'd just 
 bring it to you, and ask you to give it to him the next 
 time he comes. I'm thinking it's one of his Catholic 
 books" (she held it out with an air which would have 
 suited the delivery of a bomb), "and it has surely got 
 a strange title." 
 
 Honora received the slender volume, and, looking 
 at it, agreed that it had indeed a strange title, although 
 one not unknown to her. For what she found printed 
 on the back was "The Hound of Heaven," and she 
 remembered having heard or seen a great deal about 
 this remarkable poem a few years before. But she 
 had never read it, and she felt that this was an excellent 
 opportunity to do so. She opened the book, glanced 
 into it, and then looked up at Mrs. Kemp. 
 
 "I'm glad you've brought this to me," she said; 
 "for I can read it before giving it to Bernard. And it 
 arrives just when I'm in need of something to interest 
 me. I'll take it into the garden — gardens and poems 
 go well together — and if he should come presently, as 
 I rather think he may about a matter of business, 
 you can have him sent out there to me." 
 
 Mrs. Kemp nodded assent, while she looked at the 
 girl with a not unkindly keenness in her sharp black 
 eyes. 
 
 "It seems a pity that you should be going away 
 just when you've begun to take hold of the business 
 so well, and when you and Mr. Bernard have got to 
 be such friends," she remarked. "I can't see why 
 you can't be satisfied to stay here instead of rampagin' 
 off to Europe." 
 
 Honora sighed and smiled at the same moment. 
 
 [258] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I should be perfectly satisfied to stay," she said 
 frankfy. "But, you see, it is Cecily who wants to go, 
 and I can't be selfish enough to refuse to go with her." 
 
 Mrs. Kemp sniffed. 
 
 "The selfishness is on her side, in my opinion," she 
 said. "I've heard how she's kept at you to go, without 
 caring whether you wanted to go or not; and, if you'll 
 excuse my saying so, I think you yield to her a great 
 deal too much." 
 
 "Perhaps I do," Honora acknowledged. "But, you 
 see, I've longed for nothing so much as to be able to 
 give her what she wanted, when there seemed no hope 
 that I ever would have that power; and, now that it 
 has come to me, I can't refuse to gratify her wishes." 
 
 "There's reason in all things, or there ought to be," 
 Mrs. Kemp stated; "and I don't hold with gratifying 
 people's wishes unless it's for their good." 
 
 Honora laughed a little. 
 
 "I've heard that before from some one else," she 
 said; "and no doubt it is perfectly true. But we can't 
 always tell what is for another's good; and it is safe 
 to do what we are able, to make life happy for those 
 we love." 
 
 "I'd like," observed Mrs. Kemp, "to see some effort 
 on the part of others to make life happy for you." 
 
 "But no effort is needed," Honora assured her. 
 "I am one of the most fortunate people in the world — 
 you know that, — and I should be one of the most 
 ungrateful if I were not also happy." 
 
 The shrewdness as well as the kindness deepened 
 in the eyes regarding her. 
 
 "People can't be happy out of gratitude," said 
 Mrs. Kemp; "and, although you are fortunate enough, 
 
 [259] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 thanks to the foolishness of one man and the obstinacy 
 of another, it's easy to see that there's something 
 lacking to make you happy, and I don't believe you'll 
 find it by going to Europe, either." 
 
 She left the room rather abruptly after this; and 
 as Honora went her way, carrying "The Hound of 
 Heaven" with her into the garden, she wondered what 
 there was about her which betrayed to the eyes of 
 others the "something lacking" of which she was 
 herself so intensely conscious. 
 
 Still pondering upon this, she sat down in the 
 midst of the bewildering world of greenness and bloom, 
 filled with the fragrance of flowers and songs of birds, 
 and opened the book which had been by a strange 
 accident placed in her hands. At first her thoughts 
 were so persistently turned inward, so fixed upon her 
 own struggle, that she failed to grasp the meaning of 
 the somewhat difficult rhythm. Then she suddenly 
 found her attention caught, grasped, held breathlessly, 
 as she saw all that she had been thinking and feeling 
 spread before her on the printed page. Was ever before 
 the pursuit of the soul by the divine Hunter expressed 
 in such poignant and majestic words? 
 
 I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; 
 
 I fled Him, down the arches of the years; 
 I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways 
 
 Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears 
 I hid from Him, and under running laughter. 
 Up vistaed hopes I sped; 
 And shot, precipitated 
 Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears, 
 From those strong Feet that followed, followed after. 
 But with unhurrying chase, 
 And unperturbed pace, 
 
 [ 260 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, 
 
 They beat — and a Voice beat 
 
 More instant than the Feet — 
 "All things betray thee, who betrayest Me." 
 
 It was some time after this that Bernard Chisholm, 
 coming by direction to seek her, found her on a seat 
 which commanded a wide, distant view, at which 
 she was gazing with such absent mind that she did 
 not hear his approach. The book she had been reading 
 lay open in her lap; and its pages, as well as her hair 
 and dress, were powdered with the white starry flowers 
 that had dropped from a jasmine vine clambering 
 overhead, the delicate, penetrating fragrance of which 
 was all about her. She was pale as one of the Madonna 
 lilies blooming in stately beauty near by, and her whole 
 attitude and expression breathed a wistfulness that 
 struck him as intensely pathetic. He paused without 
 speaking for an instant, and then very gently — 
 
 "I hope I don't disturb you," he said. 
 
 She started slightly, as she turned her eyes upon 
 him with a welcoming smile. 
 
 "Oh, no," she said, "you don't disturb me in the 
 least! I was expecting you, and would have seen you 
 coming only that just then I had wandered rather 
 far away. Excuse my inattention, and sit down." 
 (She moved to make room for him on the seat beside 
 her.) "I've several things I want to ask you." 
 
 "I hope they are things I can answer," he said, 
 smiling in turn as he sat down. 
 
 'You can answer them if you care to do so," she 
 replied quietly. "But, in the first place, let me tell 
 you that I have a book of yours here which Mrs. 
 Kemp found and gave me, to be returned to you, a 
 
 [261 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 little while ago. I brought it out with me to read, and — 
 and it has impressed me more than anything I ever 
 read before in all my life. Perhaps you won't be sur- 
 prised at this when you see what it is." 
 
 She held the volume to him; and he was indeed 
 not surprised, but very much startled, when he saw 
 what it was. 
 
 "My long-lost copy of 'The Hound of Heaven'!" 
 he exclaimed. 'Where on earth did it come from? 
 And how strange that it should have fallen into your 
 hands!" 
 
 "I am sure you have no idea how strange the last 
 is," she said. "I could almost think it had been planned 
 by some outside agency, it has seemed to bring such 
 a direct message to me. It — it is wonderful, is it not?" 
 
 "The poem, do you mean, or the message?" 
 
 "Both. The beauty of the poem has fascinated 
 me, but the message is — overwhelming. One feels 
 that breathless chase; one hears the sound of those 
 pursuing Feet as if— as if one were oneself pursued 
 by them." She paused, and looked away again into 
 the purple distance, with the wide-eyed gaze of one 
 who listens for a pursuit which can not be escaped. 
 Then she turned abruptly toward him. "Was it so 
 with you?" she queried. "That is the question I wanted 
 to ask you. Oh, you have evaded answering many 
 questions of mine; but you won't evade or refuse to 
 answer this, will you? For I must know whether or 
 not certain things are merely the influence of my 
 imagination — I have rather a strong imagination, — or 
 whether it is common with others to be conscious of — 
 of a sense of being pursued. I would not use that 
 expression if I could avoid it, but there is no other 
 
 [262] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 which expresses the feeling to which I allude." 
 
 He nodded comprehendingly. 
 
 "There is no other," he agreed. "It is a thing 
 not often spoken of or described except in mystical 
 religious literature, but I fancy there is no experience 
 more common to human nature. Everyone, of any 
 spiritual perception at all, must have felt at some 
 time and in some degree that pursuit of the soul by 
 God, which supreme genius has put into marvellous 
 words there." (He pointed to the book still in her hand.) 
 "It just amounts to this, you know," he went on 
 hesitatingly, after a moment: "that God — happily for 
 us — will not leave us alone. We may want to be left 
 alone, but He follows, pursues, makes us feel that — " 
 
 "'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me,'" she 
 murmured, as if to herself. "Do you believe that 
 they do?" 
 
 "I must believe it," he answered. "We are told 
 that the heart of man, being made for God, can not 
 find rest or satisfaction as long as it is endeavoring to 
 escape from Him; and it is that effort to escape which 
 is described in 'The Hound of Heaven.'" 
 
 "But why" (there was a note of acute pain in her 
 voice now), — "why should it amount to a persecution, 
 the chase of the Hound of Heaven? If one isn't 
 spiritual, and one doesn't want to have anything to 
 do with mystical beliefs and practices, why should 
 one be attracted against one's will — be drawn — 
 pursued — " 
 
 "Ah!" (as her voice had expressed pain, so his 
 now expressed keenest sympathy) "one can find no 
 answer for that question except in the love of God for 
 the soul He is pursuing." 
 
 [263] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 She looked at him, and he saw a passion of revolt 
 in her eyes. 
 
 "I shall shock you," she said, "but the truth is 
 that I don't want to be loved in that way. I can't 
 make heroic sacrifices; there is no good in asking them 
 of me; and so I just want to be let alone, to be left 
 in peace to my — mediocrity." 
 
 It was so pitiful that he smiled. But there was 
 no amusement in the smile. 
 
 "I know," he said gently. "But you are not so 
 mediocre as you think: there are heroic possibilities 
 in you, and so God does not intend to let you alone. 
 He means you to choose between Him and— other 
 things. Oh, you are in a hard strait! I know that 
 well. And I have been weak enough to hope, and 
 almost to pray, that you might be spared the necessity 
 of choice. But I see clearly that you are not to be 
 spared — " 
 
 "Where you are mistaken," she interrupted, "is 
 in thinking that there is any choice open to me. There 
 is none. I must, I will, suffer anything rather than 
 make another suffer for my possible good. There is 
 nothing I am more resolved upon than that." 
 
 "I understand," he said, with the pity in his voice 
 deepening; "but if the grace of God pursues you — " 
 
 "It will not pursue me," she declared in a voice 
 hard as steel; "for I believe that it has been altogether 
 the work of my own imagination. And as for this 
 poem" (she closed the book decisively and held it out 
 to him), "please take it away with you. Beautiful 
 as it is, I am quite sure that it is exaggerated and 
 morbid, and I never wish to see it again." 
 
 [264] 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 I THINK," said Cecily, calmly, "that men are the 
 most unreasonable creatures on earth." 
 Julian Page frowned slightly, dashed a little color 
 on his impressionistic sketch of Lake Toxaway, which 
 lay in smiling beauty before him, and remarked a 
 trifle bitterly that lack of reason was on the whole 
 preferable to lack of heart. 
 
 "I don't agree with you," Cecily replied as calmly 
 as before. "I should much prefer to be lacking in 
 heart than in reason." 
 
 "Then you ought to be satisfied," Mr. Page ob- 
 served; "for there's not the least room to doubt that 
 you have much more reason than heart." 
 
 "I should be very sorry if I didn't have," Cecily 
 returned. "You don't mean to be flattering, but you 
 really are. I've never had the faintest intention of 
 allowing any sentimental impulses to rule my life; 
 and I've told you so from our first acquaintance." 
 
 "Oh, you have been thoroughly explicit!" he 
 admitted. "It isn't your fault that I have yielded to 
 my 'sentimental impulses,' and thereby incurred your 
 scorn." 
 
 "Not my scorn," she assured him: "only my 
 surprise." 
 
 "Why surprise? You must be accustomed to men's 
 losing their heads about you." 
 
 [265] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Not at all," she answered coolly. "The men I 
 have known up to this time didn't lose their heads in 
 the smallest degree. Very far from it. Indeed, it was 
 seeing how admirably they kept their heads, in the 
 days when I was a penniless girl, however attractive 
 and clever, which first showed me how necessary it 
 was to keep my own. I might very easily have allowed 
 it to be turned. I might have taken the admiration 
 and compliments offered me at a value which wasn't 
 real, if I had been as foolish as some girls are. I've 
 seen several very pitiful tragedies from such mistakes, 
 and they taught me a great deal. I resolved that 
 I would be as self-contained and wholly self-interested 
 as men are, and that I would not allow my heart to 
 have any control of my life. It's a resolution I have 
 never been tempted to break." 
 
 She looked at him with brilliant eyes, in which 
 there was a shade of defiance; and as Julian gazed 
 at her he was conscious of receiving a sudden vivid 
 light upon her attitude toward life, which he had 
 lacked before. Why had he not divined the true 
 meaning of this attitude earlier? Why had not his 
 own knowledge of the world told him that she had 
 probably had some experiences during her impression- 
 able youth which had bitten deep? He saw it clearly 
 enough now. What she had then learned of men had 
 left her with a lasting distrust of their disinterestedness, 
 had strengthened her own natural impulse toward 
 selfishness, and had made her, as she declared, resolve 
 that not love but enlightened self-interest should be 
 the dominating impulse of her life. And it was not 
 strange that the coming of the fortune which had 
 made such a change in her prospects, which opened 
 
 [266] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to her doors that had appeared hopelessly closed, 
 should not have altered in the least this controlling 
 determination and belief. In the days of her poverty and 
 obscurity, she had seen men thoroughly tested in 
 their attitude toward herself; and if that attitude was 
 different now it could only be because the great factor 
 of money had intervened. It was with a sense of 
 positive shock that Julian realized this, and drew the 
 inevitable conclusion that he was judged with the 
 rest. 
 
 "I suppose," he said at length, "that you make 
 no exception in your opinion of the self-interestedness 
 of men?" 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Why should I?" she queried. 
 
 He felt the blood mount to his face, and was angry 
 with himself for betraying how deeply he was hurt. 
 
 "There is of course no reason why you should," he 
 replied, "if you have no faith in the sincerity of any 
 protestations made to you." 
 
 She met his eyes again for a moment before 
 answering; and, as she gazed, something of the 
 defiance melted out of her own eyes, and a rather 
 new softness came into them. 
 
 "Why do you make me say rude and unpleasant 
 things?" she asked. "It is a very poor return for 
 your — er — kind sentiments toward me." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense!" he said almost roughly. 
 "You know perfectly well that there's no kindness 
 in my sentiments toward you." 
 
 "Isn't there?" She laughed irresistibly. "Then 
 there must be unkindness, and I can hardly believe 
 that." 
 
 [267] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "How about your own unkindness?" he inquired. 
 "I found no claim upon the fact that I have given 
 you, from the hour of our first meeting, a devotion 
 quite different from any I've ever given any other 
 woman, — that I am passionately in love with you, 
 and ready to offer you my whole life and all that I 
 have. I found no claim, as I've said, upon these 
 things; for you've made it quite clear always that you 
 care nothing about them. But I have at least a right 
 to demand that my sincerity shall be believed." 
 
 "Oh, dear!" Cecily sighed. "This conversation is 
 becoming very disagreeable. If you don't mind, I 
 should prefer to talk about something else." 
 
 "I mind very much," he replied decidedly. "I 
 must refuse to talk about anything else until you 
 have told me in serious earnest whether or not you 
 put me in the same class with the men of whom you've 
 been speaking, and consider that my devotion means 
 no more than their admiration meant." 
 
 Again she looked at him and saw a man she had 
 never seen before. His debonair insouciance of manner 
 and expression was gone; and all that was deepest 
 and strongest in his nature — all the passion which had 
 been so lightly and so gaily cloaked — came to the 
 surface, and transformed even the familiar face which 
 now regarded her with an expression altogether 
 unfamiliar. 
 
 "Julian," she said, "if you persist in bullying me 
 in this manner, I'll go back to the Inn. I am not 
 accustomed to being bullied, and I don't like it." 
 
 'You are not accustomed to anything but having 
 your own way," he returned; "but you are not going 
 to have it just now. You are going to answer my 
 
 [268] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 question; for I insist upon it, and you have no right 
 to refuse. Do you believe in the sincerity of my love 
 for you or do you not?" 
 
 Now, bullying is generally unwise, especially in 
 the case of a high-spirited and spoiled woman, and 
 no one was ordinarily better aware of this than Julian 
 Page. But at the present moment he was extremely 
 angry; and, being angry, he forgot the wisdom which 
 his observation of life had taught him. The result 
 was that Cecily also grew angry, which was an unusual 
 phenomenon with her. 
 
 "I think you have lost your senses as well as 
 your manners," she told him with crisp distinctness. 
 "You haven't the faintest right to insist on my answer- 
 ing a question which I dislike to answer. For how 
 can I possibly decide upon the sincerity of our love? 
 No doubt it is sincere enough under existing circum- 
 stances; but whether it would have been under those 
 other circumstances of which I've spoken — well, that 
 neither you nor I can tell." 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" (Julian was growing still 
 more angry.) "7 can certainly tell; and I wish with 
 all my heart that you were back in those other circum- 
 stances, so that I might convince you." 
 
 "You are very kind" (her voice had an edge of 
 keenest mockery), "but I can't possibly wish myself 
 back in very unpleasant circumstances in order that 
 I might be convinced of something which really doesn't 
 interest me in the least." 
 
 Until the last words escaped her lips, she did not 
 realize how cutting they were. But a glance at Julian's 
 face told her. He grew very pale, gave her a look of 
 almost incredulous reproach, and, saying stiffly, "In 
 
 [269] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 that case, I'm sorry for having forced the discussion 
 of an uninteresting subject upon you," turned again 
 to his painting. After that, silence fell like a wall 
 between them. 
 
 It was an exquisite hour and scene; for the golden 
 spell of late afternoon was upon all things, and the 
 view spread before them had the dreamlike beauty 
 which is the peculiar note of the Southern Appalachians. 
 They were at the extreme end of the lake, which 
 stretched away in mirror-like expanse, its crystal 
 water reflecting the sapphire sky above and the wooded 
 heights rising from its shores, richly green near by, 
 and wearing in the distance ethereal robes of blue 
 and purple softness. Julian had selected for his sketch 
 the wildest and most remote spot on the lovely sheet 
 of water, so that there was at present not a single 
 object in sight to remind them that they were not 
 alone in the world. Now, solitude a deux, as the French 
 call it, is very charming as long as the two who share 
 it are companioned by perfect sympathy; but when 
 this has been broken — when anything so unfortunate 
 as a decided rupture of sympathy has occurred — then 
 the solitude a deux becomes far more oppressive than 
 a solitude of one. 
 
 So Cecily speedily found it. There was nothing she 
 so strenuously objected to as a diagreeable atmosphere. 
 And it was very disagreeable to be reduced to silence, 
 and to watching a scene with the details of which 
 she felt herself more than sufficiently familiar, while 
 Julian painted away as if possessed by a demon of 
 energy, dashing color on his canvas in a manner which 
 she felt sure he would later regret. She regarded him 
 with exasperation for a time, and then suddenly burst 
 into laughter. [ 270 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "This," she announced, "is quite too absurd, — 
 that two such examples of modernity as you and I 
 should be quarrelling like a pair of old-fashioned 
 lovers!" 
 
 He turned toward her with a flash in his eyes. 
 
 "O Cecily," he exclaimed, "don't you see what a 
 confession there is in that? 'A pair of old-fashioned 
 lovers' ! What else are we, — for there is no new fashion 
 in love? O my dear, if you would only believe it, — 
 only be satisfied that love, eternally old and eternally 
 new, is enough! And if, with love, you would have 
 faith in me — " 
 
 "My dear boy," she interrupted not unkindly but 
 also patronizingly, "I really have the utmost faith in 
 you — in your disinterestedness and your capabilities 
 of folly. For the world is right in regarding it as folly 
 to hold money as unimportantly as we Southern 
 people — I mean we of the old regime — are incurably 
 inclined to do. I take back my nasty remarks of a 
 minute ago. I haven't a doubt but that if you had 
 met me before Mr. Chisholm made Honora rich, you 
 would have been as ready to offer me all that you 
 have as you are now — " 
 
 "You may indeed believe it!" he said in a tone 
 of intense feeling. 
 
 "But I would have refused it as positively then as 
 I do now," she assured him. "It would have been a 
 pleasant balm to my wounded vanity, but I shouldn't 
 have allowed you to ruin your life then; and now — " 
 
 "Yes, now?" 
 
 "Now the virus of worldliness has entered too 
 deeply into me, and I could never be satisfied if I 
 did not make an effort to grasp all that I have longed 
 
 [271 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 for, and promised myself that I would grasp if ever 
 given a chance. Well, the chance has been given me; 
 and I can't, Julian, — I can't turn away from it. It would 
 be asking too much of me. 'All for love, and the world 
 well lost,' could never commend itself to me, — never!" 
 
 He nodded assent gravely. 
 
 "I recognize that," he said. "I've recognized it 
 all along. It would be asking too much of you, even 
 if you were willing to grant it. You like me well enough; 
 but you don't really love me, for the love which shrinks 
 from sacrifice is no love at all. I'm a very worldly 
 chap myself, but I realize that." 
 
 "I detest the very name of sacrifice," Cecily de- 
 clared with biting inciseness. "And yet, Heaven knows, 
 I oughtn't to do so, since all that I'm rejoicing in — 
 my freedom and my possibilities — I owe to an absurd 
 act of sacrifice." 
 
 "Putting gratitude aside, I don't think you should 
 characterize Bernard's act in that manner," Julian 
 remarked. "It's one of those things that give one — 
 er — rather a thrill, you know." 
 
 "Perhaps so. But, all the same, it was absurd." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Not from his point of view. You see, he realizes, 
 so much more clearly than the rest of us, that things 
 do not end here." 
 
 "But even if they don't, how can it make so 
 much difference what form of belief one professes?" 
 She paused, and, taking up a stone, threw it, with 
 unusual skill for a woman, out into the water. "I'll 
 tell you something which I've hardly put into words, 
 even to myself, before," she then said. "I am afraid 
 about Honora." 
 
 [ 272 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 He stared. 
 
 "Afraid in what way?" he asked. 
 
 "Afraid of a growing fascination which Bernard 
 and Bernard's beliefs seem to be exercising over her," 
 Cecily replied. "I don't mean that she is falling in 
 love with him — though it's something like that, only 
 on a higher plane, as it were, — but that she is danger- 
 ously under his influence, and — and — well, there are 
 queer possibilities in Honora. If it wasn't for me — 
 I'm her balance wheel — I believe she would be capable 
 of throwing up the Chisholm fortune herself, to enter 
 the Catholic Church." 
 
 "Good Lord!" (Unnecessary to state that this 
 ejaculation was not intended religiously on Mr. Page's 
 part.) "I've never dreamed of such a thing. And 
 I'm sure Bernard hasn't either." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that," Cecily said darkly. 
 "Bernard is too reticent for my taste. And what else 
 is he doing but drawing her toward the Catholic Church 
 when he spends hours in that music-room of his — I 
 mean hers — playing Masses for her?" 
 
 "My dear girl, that is only for the sake of the 
 music. Bernard would never think of trying to prose- 
 lytize Honora, especially since he knows all that is at 
 stake for her." 
 
 Cecily threw another stone with great precision 
 into the lake before she remarked, in the same cryptic 
 manner as before: 
 
 "I'm not at all sure of that, either. But, however 
 it may be, I'm glad we are going away soon; and it 
 is one reason why I've been so insistent in urging our 
 departure. I want to get her away from his influence, 
 whether it is consciously or unconsciously exerted." 
 
 [273] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "I'm certain that you are mistaken," Julian 
 asserted energetical^. "I've known Bernard all my 
 life, and he is the very soul of honor." 
 
 "But he wouldn't regard anything of this kind 
 as dishonorable," Cecily said, with the extraordinary 
 confidence in her ability to read the inner motives of 
 Catholics which Protestants often exhibit. "They are 
 all more or less Jesuitical, you know." 
 
 "I really don't know; and I'm not certain that I 
 even know what being 'Jesuitical' means." 
 
 "It means suiting the ways to the end, — just what 
 Bernard has been doing with the music." 
 
 "But why on earth should he want to turn Honora 
 into a Catholic? It wouldn't do him any good for her 
 to lose her fortune." 
 
 Again Cecily shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "I can't tell how it would do him good," she 
 answered. "But I have an instinct of danger in her 
 association with him, and my instincts are never 
 wrong. I've a remarkable faculty of being right." 
 
 Julian laughed, not altogether mirthfully. 
 'You've a remarkable belief in yourself," he ob- 
 served. "I wish to Heaven you weren't quite so sure 
 of your own wisdom in some ways." 
 
 "One can't accomplish things without believing 
 in oneself," she told him serenely. "Now I mean to 
 accomplish everything that I have planned." 
 
 "Hadn't you better touch wood, — or, following a 
 classic example, throw one of your rings into the lake?" 
 
 She glanced at the sparkling jewels on her hands, 
 and laughed quite mirthfully. 
 
 "Excuse me!" she said. "I haven't a grain of 
 superstition about me, and I don't intend to sacrifice 
 
 [274] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 one of the rings which I've had so short a time, and 
 which I like so much, to propitiate fate. It doesn't 
 require any propitiation, I'm sure. Everything is 
 going to be carried out exactly as I desire. Meanwhile" 
 (she looked at her bracelet watch) "you must take me 
 back to the Inn, if you please ; for I have an engagement 
 at six o'clock to go motoring with Mr. Dorrance. He 
 wants to show me his new car, and incidentally some 
 fine views also." 
 
 Julian frowned in evident disapproval, as he rose 
 and began to unfasten the small boat waiting for 
 them. 
 
 "I wish you weren't going with Dorrance," he 
 said. "Oh, you needn't smile! It's not because I'm 
 jealous of him, though he's so desperately in love 
 with you; or because I envy him the money he doesn't 
 know how to spend, or the car he doesn't know how 
 to drive. It's because I consider it dangerous for you 
 to go out with him. He is absolutely reckless when 
 he once gets into that car, and turns on speed. He has 
 had several bad accidents in the low country, where 
 roads are like boulevards compared with these here, 
 and where there are no precipices to fall over. You 
 shouldn't trust yourself with him. Ask Selwyn, and 
 he'll tell you the same thing." 
 
 "Mr. Selwyn has alread)^ volunteered much the 
 same advice," she acknowledged; "but I told him I 
 really couldn't break my engagement with Mr. 
 Dorrance on the ground that I'm afraid to go in his 
 car, considering that I am not in the least afraid. 
 I've never been afraid of anything in my life, — physically 
 afraid, I mean." 
 
 "It's a pity to be endowed with so many virtues," 
 
 [275] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Julian commented. "Perfect courage and perfect 
 wisdom constitute really too much of an equipment 
 for one individual." 
 
 "You are developing quite too much of a gift of 
 sarcasm," Cecily returned. "I'll see that Mr. Dorrance 
 doesn't exercise his speed mania to any dangerous 
 degree; for I have no desire to be either killed or 
 injured. He'll do what I tell him, — I can assure you 
 of that." 
 
 "He's your abject slave at present," Julian ad- 
 mitted. "But the trouble is that you won't yourself 
 recognize a dangerous degree of speed until it may 
 be too late. I beg — I earnestly beg you not to go. 
 Let us stay where we are. You can tell him later that 
 you forgot the engagement." 
 
 'Truth does not appear to be one of your virtues." 
 
 "I'd cheerfully tell a dozen lies to keep you out 
 of Jack Dorrance's car," he informed her. "It is not 
 safe for you to go with him. You might believe Selwyn 
 on that point, if you won't believe me; for Selwyn 
 is inclined to reckless driving himself, and when he 
 says that another man takes too many chances he 
 knows what he is talking about." 
 
 "I think Mr. Selwyn was talking on your behalf," 
 Cecily said, smilingly. "Oh, I wasn't deceived the least 
 little bit ! I knew you had asked him to warn me, and I'm 
 sorry I can't heed the warning. But it would be quite 
 too absurd to tell poor Mr. Dorrance that I'm afraid 
 to go motoring with him, since I'm not afraid at all. 
 So please get me back to the Inn as quickly as possible." 
 
 [276] 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 IT was on the same afternoon as that on which 
 Cecily and Julian were seated together on the 
 shores of Lake Toxaway — but very much later, 
 for the sun was sinking in the west — that Honora, 
 returning from an entertainment (one of the "hen 
 parties" despised by Cecily) which she had attended 
 with Alicia Page, sent the latter home in the limousine, 
 and herself, crossing the terrace, went into the house 
 alone. 
 
 It seemed to her that she had never been more 
 aware of the charm of the spacious dwelling than as 
 it lay, open and flower- scented, around her when she 
 entered the hall and paused for a moment, as if un- 
 decided where to go. The complete stillness of the large, 
 shaded rooms on each side, and the light and color 
 of sunset flowing into the stately hall, carried a sense 
 of quiet and repose which was at once soothing and 
 delightful after the scene she had just left — the chatter 
 of many voices, all talking at once, the clatter of tea- 
 spoons against glass and china, and the brightly lighted 
 rooms full of animated figures. It had all been pleasant 
 enough, but rather fatiguing to one unaccustomed to 
 social diversions; and this cool, dim, silent house was 
 the most refreshing contrast imaginable. A soft sigh 
 was the expression of her intense pleasure in the con- 
 
 [277] 
 
THE vSECRET BEQUEST 
 
 sciousness that such an ideal home of peace was her 
 own; and then, turning, by a sudden impulse she 
 passed into the music-room. 
 
 Here, too, the sunset glow entered freely from the 
 western windows, and flooded the beautiful room, 
 which had a chapel-like air from the tall, gilded pipes 
 of the organ at its farther end. Honora looked at the 
 magnificent instrument a little wistfully. It had never 
 been opened since the day, which seemed so long ago, 
 when Bernard had closed it down, after the knowledge 
 of what his uncle's letter contained had come to him 
 by intuitive deduction; but now she felt that she 
 would give much if she could see Bernard enter, open 
 it again, sit down and flood the room with melody, 
 as it was already flooded with light. Well, there was 
 no good in wishing for what was at present beyond 
 all possibility of realization. But the longing grew and 
 seized upon her like a passion; though whether it 
 was for Bernard himself — for the personality which 
 had come to mean so much to her, — for the music 
 on which the soul mounted upward as if on wings, or 
 for That which lay, august and mysterious, behind the 
 attraction of both, she could not tell. 
 
 But she felt suddenly that music in some form 
 she must have; and, opening the grand piano, which 
 in its gleaming mahogany case stood at one side of 
 the room, she sat down and began to play some of 
 the half-forgotten music of her early youth. Fragments 
 of Mendelssohn's "Songs without Words" came to 
 her fingers, for her musical education had stopped 
 before she knew much of the work of modern com- 
 posers; and the simple, tender, spring-like strains as 
 they floated out on the stillness — she had a really 
 
 [278] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 charming touch — seemed to blend perfectly with the 
 fragrance of flowers, the sunset, and the vesper notes 
 of birds. She was modulating softly the chords of 
 "Consolation" when suddenly the thought of Cecily 
 came to her strongly, — so strongly that with an in- 
 voluntary movement she turned her head, almost 
 expecting to see the girl enter the room, until she 
 remembered how far away she was. 
 
 It was, of course, the subtle association of the 
 music which produced this extraordinary impression of 
 her personality, and even of her presence, Honora 
 told herself as she continued to play. But while she 
 played her attention wandered more and more from 
 the music, and more and more she was conscious of 
 something which can be described only as the touch 
 of Cecily's spirit upon her own, — as if from a remote 
 distance a message were being conveyed to her which 
 she was unable to grasp. She felt almost impelled to 
 turn to the shadowy presence which seemed to stand 
 beside her and say, "What is it? What do you want?" 
 She changed to another theme, less filled with recollec- 
 tions of the past; but still the strange sensation of 
 Cecily's presence persisted; and then, putting out her 
 hand, she took up a music-book from the stand beside 
 her. It was one of Bernard's, a collection of liturgical 
 anthems and hymns; and as she turned the pages 
 her eye fell on the Vesper hymn, Lucis Creator Optime, 
 which, with the hymn for Compline, the beautiful 
 Te lucis ante terminum, he had several times sung for 
 her at twilight, and which she had liked particularly. 
 Now she began to try it herself, and for the first time 
 read the translation of the words into English. Very 
 lovety she found them; and when she reached the 
 
 [279] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 appeal which the close of each swiftly passing day 
 seems to render more poignantly moving — 
 
 Thick flows the flood of darkness down; 
 
 Oh, hear us as we weep and pray! 
 Keep Thou our souls from schemes of crime, 
 
 Nor guilt remorseful let us know; 
 Nor, thinking but on things of time, 
 
 Into eternal darkness go, — 
 
 she paused with a sense of fear which startled herself. 
 For how simply, how concisely, yet with what force, 
 these lines conveyed a terrible idea, a terrible possi- 
 bility! And suddenly the idea connected itself with 
 Cecily, — Cecily, whose presence seemed so strongly 
 with her! Why it should do so, she did not know. 
 Why at this moment for the first time she should 
 realize overwhelmingly that Cecily did not give, had 
 never given, one serious thought to anything but 
 "things of time," she was unable to tell. But the 
 fact was there, rousing a sense of positive terror at the 
 possibility of an anguish beyond the power of words 
 to express. 
 
 For, as her hands dropped from the keys of the 
 piano and she sat motionless, while the fragrant summer 
 twilight deepened around her, everything was made 
 luminously clear to her mental vision. She had closed 
 her ears to the call of God's grace, to the sound of 
 those strong Feet that "followed, followed after" her 
 flying soul; she had clung with passionate determina- 
 tion to the wealth which was the price of that soul — 
 and all for what? Not for herself in even the least 
 degree: had she had only herself to consider, she 
 knew that she would willingly, — nay, gladly — have 
 cast the Chisholm fortune aside, and gone back to 
 poverty and labor, if so she might follow the strong 
 
 [280] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 attraction which drew her toward the Catholic Church. 
 It was for Cecily that the costly sacrifice had been 
 made; for Cecily, that she might plunge deeper and 
 deeper into worldliness, and drink her fill of the 
 pleasure, admiration and luxury for which her nature 
 thirsted. And when all the senses had been satisfied 
 and the end came — as come it must, either soon or 
 late — would not Cecily then, 
 
 . . . thinking but on things of time, 
 Into eternal darkness go? 
 
 She knew well that Cecily would smile at such 
 a suggestion, would call it an exploded superstition of 
 the past, and that she herself not long before would 
 have smiled also. But of late she had learned many 
 things, though how she learned them she could not 
 tell; and at this present moment the darkness flowing 
 down upon the material world brought a message 
 which she could not disregard, — the message of a 
 deeper darkness awaiting the soul that deliberately 
 ignored and turned away from God. 
 
 And in Cecily's fate how much responsibility would 
 be hers? This was what was chiefly made clear to her 
 with an appalling clearness. She had not thought 
 of herself: she had, on the contrary, made her choice 
 in a spirit of absolute unselfishness with ardent desire 
 to pour happiness upon Cecily. And now it was shown 
 to her that she would do Cecily a great wrong in feeding 
 the spirit of worldliness, and leading her along a path 
 of spiritual darkness. And meanwhile the consciousness 
 of Cecily herself — of Cecily strangely mingled with the 
 descending twilight — deepened and pressed upon her. 
 
 How long a time elapsed while she remained 
 
 [281] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 motionless considering these things which some power 
 outside herself seemed presenting to her, and under- 
 going an experience of mental emotion she was destined 
 never to forget, she did not know. But she was presently 
 aware of Mrs. Kemp's voice speaking in the lighted 
 hall beyond the room where she sat in the obscurity 
 of the fallen dusk: 
 
 "I'm quite sure Miss Honora's at home, Mr. 
 Bernard. I haven't seen her since she came in, but 
 I heard her playing the piano; and I've been waiting 
 for her to say that she's ready for her tea — she hasn't 
 been taking dinner since Miss Cecily's been away." 
 
 And then Bernard Chisholm's voice, with the deep 
 baritone note she knew so well: 
 
 "If you heard her playing, perhaps she is still in 
 the music-room — " 
 
 Honora rose and came forward to the door of the 
 room. 
 
 "Yes, Bernard: here I am," she said. 
 
 He turned quickly, and as the brilliant light from 
 the electroliers fell on his face, she saw that he was 
 looking singularly pale, and that there was in his eyes 
 an expression quite new to her, which roused a vague 
 sense of apprehension. 
 
 "I am glad to find you," he said, advancing toward 
 her. "Alicia told me that you were at home. May 
 I speak to you for a few minutes?" 
 
 "How formal!" she smiled. "You may certainly 
 speak to me for as many minutes as you like. I've 
 just been wishing that you would come and play for 
 me. Perhaps my wishing brought you." 
 
 He did not answer her smile by another, as he would 
 ordinarily have done. 
 
 [282] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "No," he replied gravely, as he followed her into 
 the music-room, to which she turned back, and switched 
 on the lights as he entered. "No," he repeated, as he 
 paused and stood looking at her with the same un- 
 familiar expression in his eyes. "I have come to bring 
 you a message." 
 
 "A message!" Fear clutched at her heart suffo- 
 catingly, and then she knew why he was regarding 
 her so compassionately. "What has happened to 
 Cecily?" she asked. 
 
 "She has been injured in an automobile accident," 
 he answered. "No, she is not dead" (her lips had 
 gasped one word), "but her condition is — very seri- 
 ous. It is necessary that you should go to her at 
 once." 
 
 "How have you heard?" It seemed to her that she 
 hardly spoke audibly, but he answered at once: 
 
 "Selwyn telegraphed to me. He did not know 
 how else to reach you, without giving you too much 
 of a shock. It is a very short time since I received the 
 message. I replied that you would leave by the night 
 train, as of course you will." 
 
 "Of course. When does it go?" 
 
 "At ten o'clock, — there is nothing earlier." 
 
 "It is hard to wait even so long. I should like to 
 start this moment. Is there the least hope that I may 
 find her — alive?" Then, as he hesitated, uncertain 
 what to answer, she held out her hand. "Give me the 
 message," she said. 
 
 He handed it to her silently; and, opening it, she 
 read: 
 
 "Let Miss Trezevant know that her sister has 
 been dangerously injured in an automobile accident. 
 
 [283] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 Condition desperate, but still living. Necessary Miss 
 Trezevant should come without delay. 
 
 "Robert Selwyn." 
 
 There was a moment's pause, and then Honora 
 lifted her eyes, and Bernard thought that he had never 
 seen deeper anguish in a human glance. 
 
 "It is for my fault that Cecily is dying," she said 
 in a strange, toneless voice. "You must know that." 
 
 "Your fault!" Bernard was so deeply startled that 
 he could only echo her words. " How is that possible?" 
 
 "Surely you know," she repeated. "When we 
 talked of the ' Hound of Heaven ' you understood : you 
 knew that God demanded a great sacrifice of me, and 
 that I refused — for Cecily's sake. You can't tell me 
 that you didn't understand?" 
 
 "Yes, I understood," he answered. "I knew — I've 
 known for some time — how it was with you; and 
 my sympathy has been beyond anything that I can 
 express." 
 
 "I don't deserve your sympathy," she said; and 
 her voice was now as full of anguish as her eyes. "I 
 have been a coward — I could not face all that the 
 renunciation of your uncle's fortune would mean — I 
 could not condemn Cecily again to poverty. I turned 
 my back on God — I chose the world for her — and now 
 He is taking her out of it — and it is for my fault — my 
 fault!" 
 
 Then Bernard made a step forward and took her 
 hands, while the paper which bore the message fell 
 unheeded to the floor. 
 
 "Honora," he said— and in his tone tenderness 
 and command were mingled, — "these thoughts are 
 worse than morbid: they are madness. If I have 
 
 [284] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 understood your struggle, if I have seen how hardly 
 you were placed, how )^our very unselfishness was 
 turned against you, and how impossible, humanly 
 speaking, it was for you to have acted other than 
 you have done, do you think God has understood less 
 and pitied less? You must not doubt His sympathy 
 or His goodness, and you must not try to interpret the 
 meaning of His acts by your own limited ideas. If 
 He wills to call Cecily out of the world, it may be for 
 some reason that you do not guess: it may be because 
 the passionate love of the world, already so strong 
 in her, would grow with unlimited indulgence until 
 it would absorb all that was good in her nature." 
 
 "I see!" Honora murmured, — "the unlimited indul- 
 gence which I have been so eager to give her at any 
 cost!" 
 
 "Yes, which you have been ready to risk your 
 soul to give her" — he felt that it was no time for 
 weighing or measuring words, — "and which might 
 easily have proved the eternal ruin of her soul. Try 
 to feel that it may be to save her, rather than to punish 
 you, that God will take her, if she is to go." 
 
 "Oh, you are good, very good, to speak like this!" 
 she cried. "You see things with wonderful clearness; 
 and, strangely enough, I have seen them— a little — in 
 the same way." She paused and cast a glance around 
 the now brightly lighted room, as if seeking something 
 which was not there; and when she went on speaking, 
 her voice sank involuntarily to a whisper. "Not long 
 ago," she said, "as I sat here in the dusk, I was 
 suddenly, overwhelmingly conscious of Cecily. It was 
 as if she were standing beside me — when I turned my 
 head, I almost felt that I would see her, and thoughts 
 
 f 285 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 somewhat like these you have suggested, came to 
 
 me. . . . For the first time the idea occurred to me 
 
 that I might do her harm instead of good by the 
 
 sacrifice I was ready to make in order that she might 
 
 have everything she wanted in life; and — and some 
 
 terrible lines from one of your Catholic hymns struck 
 
 me, — lines about 
 
 . . . thinking but on things of time, 
 Into eternal darkness go. 
 
 Perhaps you remember them?" 
 
 "I remember them very well." 
 
 "Well, they seemed to link so strangely with the 
 thought of Cecily, to obtrude so persistently into my 
 mind, that a fear I can not describe seized me. I seemed 
 to realize indescribably what would be Cecily's fate 
 if she died now,— how entirely she had always been 
 without thought of anything save things of time; 
 and how, instead of helping her to think of anything 
 else, I was ready to risk my soul, as you have said, 
 to feed her love of the world and worldly things." She 
 shuddered strongly. "It was very awful," she went 
 on. "It was as if I looked down the long vista of eternity, 
 and saw— I can not express what I saw. But I feel 
 that I would do anything, that I would strip myself 
 of everything, if I might only gain for Cecily time 
 to think of eternal things! Oh, do you think that I 
 can? Do you think that God will be merciful enough 
 to let me do it, — I who have been ready to betray Him 
 for love of a creature?" 
 
 "I believe that He will," Bernard answered gently. 
 "I believe that He has interfered to show you that 
 you were making a terrible mistake, not only for 
 yourself but for Cecily; that He will accept your 
 
 [286] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 sacrifice if you are willing to make it, and grant to her 
 the time which is the most precious gift you can now 
 win for her." 
 
 "Do you think that was what she came to ask, — 
 for I had the feeling that she asked — that she wanted — 
 something of me?" 
 
 Bernard had the consciousness of being in deeper 
 waters spiritually than he had ever been in before; 
 but he could not turn from the appeal of the anguished 
 eyes fastened on him. And so he answered steadily: 
 
 "I have no right to speak in such matters; but, 
 since you asked me, I do think that what she wanted 
 was that you should help her in this supreme crisis, 
 when her eternal fate may be trembling in the balance. 
 She has always come to you when she needed help, 
 has she not?" 
 
 "Oh, always, — since she was a little child and 
 our mother died!" 
 
 "Then it is plain that in mortal fear, with the 
 dread of death upon her, her thoughts have turned 
 to you with the old instinct of demanding help, whether 
 she knew what form the help might take or not. But 
 we know what God has already demanded of you, and 
 you have refused to give — for her sake. Now it is for 
 her sake, to save her from going into the eternal dark- 
 ness of which you have spoken, that you are again 
 asked to give it." 
 
 He could not add, "Will you again refuse?" But 
 his eyes asked the question, and she answered it 
 immediately. 
 
 'There can be no question of refusal," she said. 
 "It has all been made too plain to me. I have seen 
 clearly that what I was so anxious to do for her would 
 
 [287] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 have been for the eternal ruin of her soul; and so, 
 even if she recovers and reproaches me for casting 
 her again into poverty, I shall know that I acted for 
 the best." 
 
 "I do not think that she will reproach you," he 
 said. "If she has looked death in the face, and realized 
 it as it can be realized only when we stand face to 
 face with it, she will be glad to come back to life, 
 even at the price of resigning your fortune and her 
 own ambitions." He was silent for a moment, and 
 then, as if weighing every word, "I believe," he said, 
 "that that was the appeal her spirit was making to 
 yours." 
 
 "But she does not even know — " 
 
 "Perhaps she knows more than you imagine; and, 
 at all events, God knows, and could reveal to her 
 what was necessary." 
 
 Again there was silence in the beautiful, illuminated 
 room; while the two figures standing in the centre 
 of the floor gazed into each other's eyes, oblivious of 
 everything beside the struggle for a human soul which 
 had reached its culminating point. Honora was abso- 
 lutely unconscious that she was clinging to Bernard's 
 hands as one might cling to a life-line, and Bernard 
 himself, held by the stress of her emotion, and by his 
 perception of the issues that were at stake, had thought 
 only for her, — not even at this moment for his own 
 deepening love, which was also hanging on her 
 decision. 
 
 And the decision came swiftly. 
 
 "Do you think," she asked, "that I would find your 
 church open at this hour? I should like to go there 
 for a few minutes." 
 
 [288] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "It is probably still open, for it is not late," he 
 replied. "But if not, it can be opened for you. Do 
 you wish to go at once?" 
 
 "At once," she answered. 'Touch the bell that 
 I may order the car; and you will go with me, will 
 you not? You understand that I am going to make 
 in the most solemn manner a promise and an offering 
 to God." 
 
 "I understand." His face was vivid with emotion 
 as he spoke. "And, understanding, I thank God; 
 and I will go with you to the end of the world, if you 
 will allow me." 
 
 [289] 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE accident in which Cecily had been so des- 
 perately injured proved a tragedy in the fullest 
 degree for her unfortunate companion, who was 
 killed outright, being crushed under the car, from 
 which she was hurled, as it went over a steep declivity, 
 when, coming around a sharp curve at a high rate 
 of speed, its driver endeavored to pass a country wagon 
 encountered there. From among the rocks and trees 
 of the hillside where she was thrown, the girl was 
 picked up insensible and scarcely breathing, and it 
 was several hours before she gave any sign of con- 
 sciousness. Then, opening her eyes, she murmured her 
 sister's name, seemed to understand the assurance 
 that she had been summoned, and with a sigh lapsed 
 into insensibility again. 
 
 So Honora found her when she arrived the next 
 day, and it was at the sound of her voice that Cecily 
 again opened her eyes and showed signs of conscious- 
 ness. "Nora!" she whispered faintly, in the tone of 
 her childhood, and seemed to ask nothing more than 
 the knowledge that the familiar and beloved presence 
 was beside her. 
 
 But although Honora had the happiness of finding 
 her alive, the doctors in attendance, and the famous 
 surgeon who was summoned for consultation, shook 
 their heads gravely over the case. That she might 
 
 [290] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 survive her injuries, grave as these were, they admitted; 
 but it was probable that she would be crippled for 
 life, and she would almost certainly be badly disfigured. 
 
 "One is tempted to think that it would have been 
 better if she had been killed, like poor Jack Dorrance," 
 Edith Selwyn said, when she heard this. "I can not 
 imagine how Cecily will live — crippled, and with her 
 beauty gone! It is a tragedy worse than death." 
 
 Her husband, to whom she spoke, assented 
 mournfully. 
 
 "It's one of the saddest things I ever heard of," 
 he said. "I don't wonder that poor Julian is com- 
 pletely broken up over it." 
 
 "Nor I," Edith agreed; "for he was desperately in 
 love with her, though she has treated him abominably." 
 
 "Isn't 'abominably' rather a harsh expression?" 
 Mr. Selwyn deprecated. 
 
 "It may be harsh, but it's quite accurate," Edith 
 replied; "though of course one feels as if the old rule 
 about not saying unkind things of the dead were 
 applicable to her. But she isn't dead; and how she 
 is going to live, I don't know. When I say that to 
 Julian, he just shakes his head hopelessly and answers 
 nothing." 
 
 And indeed there seemed nothing for any one to 
 say in the face of Cecily's tragedy. Even those who 
 loved her best could only look at each other dumbly, 
 and wonder how it would be with her when she learned 
 what was before her in life. How would the passionate, 
 undisciplined, world-loving and self-loving spirit endure 
 helplessness, pain, and the utter wreck of all its hopes? 
 Honora's heart sank in something nearly akin to despair 
 as she asked herself the question, which she dared not 
 
 [ 291 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 utter aloud. And then, as she knew well, the situation 
 was further complicated by her firm resolve, and solemn 
 promise made to God, to resign the Chisholm fortune 
 and enter the Catholic Church. No one as yet knew of 
 this except Bernard Chisholm; and it was by his advice 
 that she postponed any announcement of her intention 
 until Cecily was sufficiently recovered to be able to bear 
 it. When this would be, and how she would bear such 
 an additional blow, Honora was unable even to imagine. 
 But she determined to leave the future in the hands of 
 Him who demanded the great sacrifice of her, and 
 for the present live only in the duty of the day. 
 
 When it was at last decided that immediate danger 
 of death was over, Cecily was, by her own request, 
 conveyed to Kingsford; and there, in the beautiful, 
 spacious house which she had learned to call home, 
 was settled with trained nurses, and all that wealth 
 could give of skill and comfort to ease her suffering. 
 And again it was by Bernard's advice that Honora 
 acted. 
 
 "You owe that much to her," he said. "The blow 
 will be hard enough, come when and how it may; and 
 she must be strong — as strong as she is ever likely 
 to be — before she is called upon to endure it." 
 
 "You are sure of this?" she asked wistfully. "Of 
 course it is what I wish to do; but I distrust my own 
 judgment and fear my own weakness where she is 
 concerned." 
 
 "I am perfectly sure," he answered. "And I don't 
 advise you on my own responsibility alone. I have, 
 by your permission, taken advice; and I am assured 
 on ecclesiastical authority that, under the circum- 
 stances, you are not only excusable but right in defer- 
 
 [292 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 ring action until your sister has recovered from her 
 injuries." 
 
 "But God only knows when that will be," she said 
 sadly. 
 
 "God does know, however," Bernard replied; "so 
 leave the matter to Him, who is Himself dealing with 
 her." 
 
 "Do you think that He is?" she asked. "It seems 
 to me rather as if He were dealing with me, and that 
 all she is suffering, and must yet suffer, is my fault. 
 I put her before Him: I was determined not to give 
 up the fortune which meant so much for her, and 
 He struck her down to punish me. I told you that 
 at first, and I have never been able to feel anything 
 else." 
 
 "I know," he said gently. "And in a sense it is 
 true. I, too, believe that God struck her down because 
 there was no other way to release you — to make you 
 understand what He demanded of you. But I also 
 believe that He thought of her, and desired to save 
 her from herself. And, clearly, there was no other 
 way than this. Half measures would not do for 
 Cecily." 
 
 "I doubt if anything will ever reconcile her to 
 what is before her," Honora said. "I confess that 
 I am frightened, terribly frightened, when I think of 
 the future." 
 
 "Do not think of it," Bernard urged again. And 
 now he laid his hand down upon hers; for they were 
 sitting as of old in the garden, now in all the maturity 
 of its later summer glory. "Trust God and also trust 
 me. You know that I love you: let me help you to 
 take care of Cecily." 
 
 [ 293 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 She looked at him with eyes that were at once 
 very soft and very brilliant. 
 
 "Oh, you are good — you are more than good," 
 she breathed, "to be able to care for one as weak and 
 wicked as I have been — " 
 
 "Honora," he interrupted, "I will not let you say 
 such things of yourself!" 
 
 "Ah, but they are true! And you know they are 
 true," she told him. "I had made my choice; and it 
 was a choice that you must despise, — you who chose 
 so differently." 
 
 "My dear, my dear, don't you know better than 
 that?" he asked. "I had no such choice as yours to 
 make. I had to think only of myself, and that was 
 very easy; no one else suffered by my decision. But 
 you — have I not told you that I realized as clearly as 
 if I had been yourself all that you were called upon 
 to give up, and how all the unselfishness of your nature 
 was arrayed against you? It was a terrible situation, 
 a terrible struggle. And I, who knew and felt it so 
 intensely, could not help you in any way except by 
 my prayers. That was terrible, too." 
 
 "Very far from terrible," she said; "for you could 
 not have helped me in any other way so effectively. 
 I am sure it was your prayers that won the final grace 
 for me; just as it was you who sustained my soul 
 when the blow fell that almost drove me to despair, — 
 that would have driven me to despair, I think, if you 
 had not been there to tell me what to believe and 
 what to do." 
 
 "You make me very grateful — to God and to you," 
 he said. "It was what I desired of all things, — to be 
 able to help you when the final crisis came, whatever 
 
 [ 294] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 it might be. And now you will promise to let me help 
 you always and in all things, will you not?" 
 
 But, looking at him with the same softly brilliant 
 eyes, she shook her head. 
 
 "No," she said gently but firmly, " I can not promise 
 that; for it would mean to give you my life, and my 
 life is not my own to give away." 
 
 "Why is it not your own?" he asked. 
 
 "Ah, you must know!" she answered. "It belongs 
 to Cecily. It is not only that it has always belonged 
 to her, since my mother gave her to me in solemn 
 charge when she was dying, but I feel that I have an 
 added dut)' of reparation to her now. She has been 
 struck down and her whole life ruined — my poor 
 Cecily! — through my fault. We are both sure of that, 
 you and I; for, though it may be true, as you have 
 said, that God has also saved her from herself, the 
 fact remains that she is suffering through me, that she 
 will need me as she has never needed me yet, and that 
 I must not divide the duty I owe to her." 
 
 "But why," he urged, "will you not let me share 
 the duty with you, as I should be so happy to do? I 
 am better able to undertake the burden than you 
 are, and between us we could make her life all that 
 it can be made now. Honora, dear heart, you must 
 yield to me in this!" 
 
 But again Honora shook her head. 
 
 "Don't make it harder for me than you can help," 
 she said; "for I can not yield. I have thought it all 
 over, and I have asked God to show me what it is 
 right for me to do, and I see very plainly that my 
 duty is to take care of Cecily. And I could not do 
 this as it should be done if — if I married you." 
 
 [ 295 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "But, again, why not?" he demanded. "Can you 
 not trust me? Do you think I would ever interfere 
 with, or try to lessen, the care you would give to her?" 
 
 "I am certain that you would not," she answered; 
 "but I am also certain that one can not divide oneself 
 between two duties and do them equally well. One 
 or the other will suffer from neglect. Now, I could not 
 bear to neglect either you or her; and so I must not 
 try the experiment. I must give mj^ life to Cecily: I 
 see that clearly. It is duty and reparation in one." 
 
 "I can not accept this as a final decision," he said. 
 "You must not think that I will." 
 
 She smiled a little sadly as she rose. 
 
 "You will accept it after a while," she said; "for 
 there is no hope of any other decision from me. And 
 here is an example of what I mean; for yonder is 
 the nurse coming for me. Cecily wants me, and so I 
 must leave you." 
 
 It was a day or two after this that Bernard met 
 Julian Page on the street, and was promptly seized 
 upon by the latter, and haled up to his studio, despite 
 remonstrances. 
 
 "'Too busy' indeed!" the young man snorted 
 scornfully. "I am sick of that excuse, and I don't 
 mean to accept it any longer. Do you know that you 
 are in danger of becoming an apostle of hustle and a 
 slave of filthy lucre? 'No time,' when you've all the 
 time there is! And what better use can you make of 
 it than to give it to your friends, when they pay you 
 the compliment of calling upon you in their troubles?" 
 
 "Of course there's no better use to be made of 
 time than to help a friend in his trouble," Bernard 
 
 [296] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 admitted; "but if there's really nothing one can do, 
 you know — " 
 
 "And how the deuce can you tell whether or not 
 there's anything you can do, unless you listen to what 
 a fellow has to say?" Julian inquired. 
 
 "I thought I knew pretty well what you wanted 
 to say," Bernard replied; "and, although I feel for 
 you as much as possible, I can't see that there's a 
 single thing, in the line of practical help, that it's 
 in my power to render you." 
 
 "Are you quite sure of that?" 
 
 "I fancied I was; but if you can show me other- 
 wise, I'll be glad to do anything possible." 
 
 "That's only what I expected of you," the other 
 said. 
 
 They were in the studio by this time; and as 
 Bernard glanced around the big, airy room, with its 
 windows looking out over the fair, wide country lying 
 beyond the foliage-embowered town, he was struck 
 by the absence of any signs of work. Palettes, brushes, 
 and tubes of paint were reposing in a condition of 
 unnatural order and cleanliness on a table which was 
 usually a picture of artistic disorder; a few sketches 
 of mountain scenes were standing about, — notably one 
 of Lake Toxaway; but the tall easel in the middle 
 of the room bore only one canvas, and that was Cecily's 
 portrait, which had never been taken away. Bernard 
 had started at sight of this when he entered; for it 
 was as if Cecily herself were standing there in all her 
 youthful grace and beauty, with the faint, mocking 
 smile he knew so well on her lips and in her eyes. 
 
 "It's a wonderful likeness, isn't it?" Julian, who 
 had seen the start, said. "I didn't know until I came 
 
 [ 297] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 back what a vivid piece of work it is. It's so far beyond 
 anything else I've ever done that I think I was 
 inspired to do it, in order that there might be at least 
 a shadow of her loveliness left in the world if — if — " 
 
 His voice choked; he flung himself down on the 
 divan where Cecily had so often sat, and, dropping 
 his head into his hands, groaned aloud. 
 
 "It's more than a man can bear!" he said after 
 a while, — "to look at that picture — to see what she 
 was and to think of what she has been made! Bernard, 
 do you know — have you heard — any details of the 
 extent of her injuries?" 
 
 Bernard shook his head. 
 
 "I have heard nothing. I don't think that even 
 the surgeons know yet what the final result will be — 
 I mean how much she will be disfigured — " 
 
 Julian threw up his hands. 
 
 "Don't use that word!" he cried sharply. "It— it 
 is damnable! It makes a man feel murderous!" 
 
 "Look here!" said Bernard. "Are you an absolute 
 pagan? Have you never given a thought to anything 
 but that girl's beautiful body? Have you never 
 remembered that she has an immortal soul, and, 
 instead of raging against the loss of her beauty, been 
 grateful to God that she was — possibly — saved from 
 the loss of her soul?" 
 
 Julian lifted his head and stared at the speaker 
 resentfully. 
 
 "I didn't bring you here to preach," he observed. 
 
 "No, you didn't," Bernard acknowledged; "but, 
 nevertheless, you brought me. And, now that I am 
 here, I will 'preach,' whether you like it or not. For 
 I tell you frankly that I'm tired of your ingratitude 
 
 [298] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 and your pagan view of things. I was patient with 
 it at first, because I knew it was natural, since you 
 are an artist as well as a man of the modern world; 
 and that means a man who has practically lost all 
 faith in the divine government. But I can't pretend 
 to sympathize with you when you are making an 
 idol of that beauty" (he pointed to the portrait); 
 "and when you are absolutely blind to the fact that 
 she had also made an idol of it, and that it was leading 
 her to destruction." 
 
 "And so I suppose you think — confound you! — 
 that her beauty was destroyed in order to save what 
 you call her immortal soul ! " Julian commented savagely. 
 
 "I'm not presumptuous enough to attempt to 
 interpret the acts of God in any positive manner," 
 Bernard replied; "I'm only pointing out certain plain 
 facts to you. Be as indignant as you please with me, 
 but you must admit that Cecily Trezevant worshipped 
 her own beauty before and above everything else; 
 and that she was resolutely determined to take it into 
 the open market of the world, and buy with it and with 
 her sister's money all that her passionate vanity and 
 love of life craved. You can't deny this" (Julian was 
 glaring at him speechlessly). "You know that she had 
 swept everything aside in order to fulfil her ambition 
 and gratify her craving for admiration; that she would 
 not listen to your love, although I believe that she 
 really cared for you; and that she was forcing her 
 sister to do what her conscience and judgment opposed; 
 and yet you can see no hidden mercy in the blow that 
 spared even while it struck her!" 
 
 "I can see nothing but puritanical brutality in 
 such a view of her tragedy as that!" Julian growled 
 furiously. [ 209 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Poor old man!" Bernard walked over and laid 
 his hand on the other's shoulder. "Call it what you 
 like; but I'm sure you see it as plainly as I do, in 
 spite of the rage and the pity that are consuming you. 
 Nothing short of what has happened could have 
 stopped Cecily. You know that." 
 
 "There was no reason why she should have been 
 stopped. There was no crime in what she wanted 
 to do. Other women are doing it every day, and your 
 God doesn't interfere to stop them." 
 
 "My dear fellow, we don't know in the least what 
 God's intentions or dealings are with other women; 
 we are concerned only with what we can perceive 
 about Cecily. She was set upon doing herself a great 
 injury; for all that was good in her would soon have 
 perished in the atmosphere into which she was about 
 to plunge. And she has been rescued from that, even 
 at the cost of the loss of the beauty — " 
 
 "Don't say 'that was a snare to her soul,' or I 
 think I shall knock you down!" 
 
 "If it would relieve your feelings, I shouldn't very 
 much mind," Bernard observed cheerfully. "But I 
 was really about to say, ' the beauty that both you 
 and she adored.'" 
 
 "I did adore it," Julian confessed, after a moment 
 of silence; "and so would any artist, for it was an 
 altogether adorable thing. But in the days I've spent 
 here alone with that" (he indicated the portrait by a 
 motion of his head) "I have learned that Cecily was 
 more than her beauty; and that what I loved was 
 the charming, brilliant, capricious, provoking creature, 
 who was the most inspiring and delightful of comrades, 
 as well as the most beautiful of women." 
 
 [ 300] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "In short, you've found that what you loved was 
 her soul rather than her beautiful body." 
 
 "I loved herself. But the beauty was so much a 
 part of herself that it seemed to blind me to every- 
 thing else; yet I've found that it can be taken away, 
 and the Cecily I have loved remains. I own that it 
 has been a terrible struggle to discover this. I have 
 walked the floor night after night before that picture, 
 and raged at the thought of what has been destroyed; 
 but at last — out of it all — I am conscious that some- 
 thing has emerged which is higher and purer, and I 
 believe stronger, than what went before. Do you 
 think you understand what I am trying to say very 
 obscurely?" 
 
 "You are saying it very clearly," Bernard told 
 him; "and I understand perfectly. I thought that 
 it would be so. And, Julian — " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "I believe you'll find that the same kind of change 
 has been wrought in her. I have no reason on earth 
 to think this, except from an instinct which tells me 
 that there must be something in her beside frivolity, 
 selfishness, and worldliness, for God to have spared 
 her, and, as it were, taken so much trouble with her. 
 And if that core of soundness exists, suffering may bring 
 it out." 
 
 "I have feared that, on the contrary, it may render 
 her desperate. When I think of the things I have 
 heard her say — " 
 
 "Never mind those things. The Cecily who said 
 them was a spoiled, flippant girl, who had never been 
 touched by the realities of life. Since then she has 
 looked at death, and suffering has tried her as only 
 
 [301 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 suffering can. She is neither a fool nor a coward, and 
 I think she will learn her lesson." 
 
 "I can't imagine Cecily different from what she 
 has been," Julian muttered. 
 
 He rose as he spoke, and began to pace the floor, 
 as in the long night vigils of which he had spoken, 
 pausing now and again to look with passionate wist- 
 fulness at the beautiful girl who smiled at him from 
 her canvas. Bernard watched him silently, saying 
 nothing; for he felt sure that what had been said 
 already was only a preparation for what was to come, 
 and that Julian's next words would tell him why he 
 had been so insistent upon bringing him up to the 
 studio. Nothing as yet had been said to explain this. 
 Presently, still walking, the young man began to 
 speak: 
 
 "No doubt you are wondering whether I brought 
 you up here simply to talk things over in this way. 
 Well, I didn't. I had no thought of anything of the 
 kind. I asked you to come for a very definite purpose, 
 and that was to learn if you thought there was any 
 hope at all of my being allowed to see her — Cecity I 
 mean?" 
 
 "My dear man, how can I tell?" Bernard's tone 
 was full of sympathy. "I don't think any one has 
 been allowed to see her yet; but I will ask her sister, 
 if you wish me to do so." 
 
 "I shall be grateful if you will," Julian answered; 
 "for I don't like to intrude. But I am very anxious 
 to see her as soon as it can be permitted." He took 
 another turn across the room before he added: "There's 
 something I should like to say to her. It isn't a matter 
 
 [302 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 of much importance to her, perhaps; but I want to 
 say it for my own satisfaction." 
 
 "I understand." Bernard had indeed a very distinct 
 illumination with regard to the other's meaning. "You 
 want to assure her of your unchanged devotion." 
 
 Julian nodded assent. 'That's it," he said. "She 
 must be feeling terribly about her condition, and 
 there's a bare chance that such an assurance might 
 be — er — a little comfort to her." 
 
 Bernard felt quite certain that, unless Cecily had 
 changed very radically, the assurance spoken of would 
 prove a decided comfort to her. So he repeated that 
 he would convey the request to Honora as soon as 
 possible — and then suddenly an inspiration came to 
 him, concerning which he did not stop to reflect. 
 
 "If you are going to say anything of that kind 
 to Cecily," he remarked, "there is something that I 
 think you ought to know first." 
 
 Julian stopped short in his walk, and turned a 
 white face upon him. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked sharply. "What is there 
 possibly for me to know about her that I don't know 
 already?" 
 
 "One very important thing — at least it would be 
 important to most people," Bernard answered. "Cecily 
 will soon be as poor as she was before my uncle left 
 his fortune to her sister." 
 
 Julian's eyes opened wide in startled amazement. 
 
 "How in Heaven's name can that come about?" 
 he demanded. 
 
 "Very simply," Bernard answered. "Honora is 
 about to become a Catholic, and she will forfeit the 
 fortune when she does so. Remember that I am telling 
 
 [303 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 you this in strict confidence. No one except myself 
 knows of her intention as yet; and she will defer any 
 action until Cecily has recovered. But nothing is 
 more certain than that she will then enter the Church." 
 
 "Good Lord!" 
 
 Julian stood as if rooted in his tracks, and stared 
 with expanded, incredulous eyes at the speaker for at 
 least a minute after uttering the above ejaculation. 
 Then comprehension seemed to penetrate his brain 
 like a flash, and he burst into an exultant laugh as he 
 turned toward the portrait. 
 
 "You didn't think it possible, Cecily," he cried; 
 "but, after all, my chance to prove that all men are 
 not alike has come." 
 
 [304 J 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 IT was owing no doubt to her youth and perfect 
 health that Cecily astonished the doctors by the 
 manner in which she rallied from the effects of her 
 really terrible injuries. The injuries themselves re- 
 mained (for even under the most favorable conditions 
 broken bones take long to heal), but the nervous shock 
 which was their first result, and which produced a 
 physical exhaustion so complete as to cause the gravest 
 apprehension, passed away sooner than the most 
 sanguine of her attendants had ventured to hope; 
 and the mysterious fountain of life, which is the source 
 of energy, welled up again within her. 
 
 The first sign of this was a willingness to talk; 
 for up to that time she had been wrapped in silence 
 as in a garment. But now she not only answered with 
 something beside a monosyllable when addressed, but 
 she even ventured a few remarks to Honora. After 
 a while her mind went back to the accident, and she 
 began to speak of what she remembered of it — which 
 was, however, very little. 
 
 "It was all so quick!" she said. "It happened in 
 a moment. But one can feel a great deal in a moment. 
 One instant we were talking and laughing — just non- 
 sense, of course (and no doubt Mr. Dorrance was driving 
 too fast; for we spun around one of those sharp 
 mountain curves, and found ourselves facing a great, 
 
 [ 305 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 heavy wagon), — and then I screamed, and the man 
 before us pulled up his mules and shouted something; 
 and Mr. Dorranee tried to stop, but the brake, or 
 whatever it was, wouldn't work, and the car shot on; 
 and he tried to pass the wagon, but the road was too 
 narrow, and I knew we were going over, and — and — 
 we went — and that's all I know." 
 
 She paused and her eyes grew large and wild, as 
 if she were feeling again the agony of that moment 
 when, clutching vainly for some support, she was 
 flung from the heavy car as it crashed down the 
 mountain side. Presently she went on: 
 
 'When I felt the car turning, I knew we were 
 going to be killed, and I remember crying to God — it 
 seems one does that instinctively — and to you. I don't 
 know why I should have thought of you in such a 
 moment of awful terror, except that it was as I used 
 to call to you when I was a little child, and you would 
 come running to help me. Well, of course that was 
 a matter of instinct, too. If I had been able to think, 
 I should have known that you couldn't help me; but 
 I didn't think: I just felt. And my last recollection, 
 as the car went over, is of calling on you — and on God. 
 I had no right to call on God, for I had never thought 
 of Him before; but — I did." 
 
 "And He heard you," Honora said. She was 
 kneeling by the side of the couch on which the other 
 lay, stroking softly the white hand that rested in her 
 own like a bit of ivory carving. "He saved you from 
 death, my dearest! And I'm sure you are grateful 
 to Him." 
 
 'Yes, I'm grateful," Cecily said slowly. "I couldn't 
 have believed that I would be, but I am. If I had been 
 
 [306] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 asked beforehand, I should have said that I would 
 rather die than live crippled and disfigured, as I know 
 that I shall be. But one doesn't feel that way after 
 one has looked death in the face. One feels that it 
 is good to be alive on any terms." 
 
 "I am glad of that," Honora said, — "I mean I 
 am glad that you feel in this way. I have feared that 
 you would find your helplessness very hard to bear." 
 
 "Of course I shall find it hard to bear," Cecily 
 answered. "I've always found everything hard to 
 bear that wasn't according to my desires, and I'm not 
 likely to change now. But I've had a glimpse of some- 
 thing so terrible that I can't think of anything save 
 thanksgiving for being spared it. I feel like a frightened 
 child who just wants to hold fast to the hand that 
 has rescued her from deadly peril." 
 
 Involuntarily her fingers closed tightly upon the 
 hand which was holding hers. But Honora cried 
 hastily : 
 
 "Oh, my dear, it was the hand of God, not mine, 
 that rescued you!" 
 
 "I think that you had something to do with it," 
 Cecily said calmly. "My first thought when I came 
 to myself and knew that I was alive was, ' Honora 
 helped me.' I was perfectly sure of it; and I don't 
 think I was mistaken. You — prayed, didn't you?" 
 
 "O my dear, my dear, of course I prayed with all 
 my heart!" 
 
 "Well, that was it." Cecily's voice was absolutely 
 childlike now. "You have always been so good that 
 God listened to you, and here I am, and — and we won't 
 talk any more about it now." 
 
 "No, we mustn't talk any more now," Honora 
 
 [307] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 agreed. "But I feel bound to tell you that I haven't 
 been good at all — you are making a great mistake 
 about that, — and if God listened to my prayers it was 
 more than I deserved, though I can never thank Him 
 enough for doing so." 
 
 "I thank Him myself, though I don't know much 
 about Him," Cecily murmured. 
 
 Several days elapsed after this before Honora felt 
 it safe to introduce the subject of a visit from Julian 
 Page. But Cecily was steadily gaining strength, and 
 she had seen one or two visitors — Edith Selwyn and 
 Alicia Page — for a short time on different occasions; 
 so it seemed as if the young man's earnest desire to 
 say a few words to her might be gratified. But while 
 Honora still doubted, Cecily herself opened the way 
 for the request. 
 
 "I saw you from my window talking to Bernard 
 on the terrace this morning," she said one day. "Why 
 don't you bring him to see me? Doesn't he want to 
 come?" 
 
 "I'm sure he would like very much to come," 
 Honora answered; "but he hasn't asked to do so, 
 because no doubt he thinks that it wouldn't be 
 allowed." Then she paused, hesitated, and finally 
 went on: "But there is some one else who hasn't 
 been so considerate," she said, — "some one who has 
 been insistently urgent to be permitted to see you, 
 if only for a few minutes. I suppose you can guess 
 who that is?" 
 
 There was a short silence before Cecily said: 
 
 "Oh, yes, it is easily guessed! There is only one 
 person who would be foolish enough to care so 
 
 [308] 
 
THE vSECRET BEQUEST 
 
 much about seeing me, and that is Julian Page." 
 
 "And do you call him foolish for caring?" Honora 
 asked. 
 
 Cecily looked up at her with eyes dark with pain. 
 
 "I call him very foolish," she said; "for he is an 
 artist who worships beauty. He loved me for my 
 beauty — there wasn't anything else he could love me 
 for, — and he will find that the beauty is gone. So 
 why should he wish to see me? It would be better 
 if he never saw me again. Then he could remember 
 me as I — was." 
 
 "But, Cecil}'' my darling, why suppose that he 
 cared only for your beauty? Why not believe that he 
 loved you for yourself, for your whole personality, of 
 which the beauty was only a part?" 
 
 "Because I should have to be a vainer fool than 
 I am, or ever have been, to believe anything of the 
 kind," Cecity replied incisively. "In the first place, 
 I know men (and among men I know artists) very 
 well; and, in the second place, I know that I never 
 showed Julian Page a single trait of character that 
 could attract anybody. You see, it was this way: 
 he was desperately in love with me, and I liked him 
 well enough to be afraid of liking him more. Now, 
 don't be so silly as to ask why I was afraid of that, 
 for you can't have forgotten all the plan of life I had 
 laid out for myself. I was determined to carry out 
 that plan — determined that he should not interfere 
 with it, — and so I never showed him anything but 
 selfishness and worldllness and greed of the worst 
 kind; and he would have had to be an absolute idiot 
 if he had found anything in me except my beauty to 
 care for." 
 
 [309] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "O Cecily, Cecily!" Honora did not know whether 
 to laugh or to cry, and what she did was a mixture of 
 both. "How unsparingly you judge yourself, and 
 how much too severe you are in your judgment! I 
 always thought you cared for Julian more than you 
 would admit, and I am sure that you do him injustice 
 in thinking that he cared only for your beauty. Give 
 him at least a chance to tell you how he feels toward 
 you!" 
 
 But Cecily shook her head inflexibly. 
 
 "There is nothing to be gained by it," she said. 
 " He would be moved by compassion to try to maintain 
 the old admiring pose, and I should read the truth in 
 his eyes, and — and, frankly, I couldn't bear it. No, 
 no! All that is over, and I don't wish ever to see him 
 again." 
 
 "Cecily, don't you know that this is most unkind 
 as well as most unjust? You have no right to decide 
 upon his feelings." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have!" Cecily returned. "Or, at any 
 rate, I have a right to decide upon my own, and to 
 say whom I wish to see. I don't wish to see Julian 
 Page, and I don't mean to see him; so please let this 
 be clearly understood." 
 
 "I don't know how he will bear such a decision," 
 Honora said in last appeal. 
 
 ' ' He will bear it better than what would follow on 
 seeing me," Cecily answered. "Don't argue any more, 
 Honora; for I shall not change my mind." 
 
 Honora knew the speaker well enough to be con- 
 vinced of this; so she argued no more, but carried to 
 Bernard the decision thus delivered. 
 
 "It is hard on Julian," she said, "but Cecily refuses 
 
 [310] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to see him because she is certain that he cared only 
 for her beauty, and she believes that her beauty is 
 gone." 
 
 "She might give him a chance to speak for himself 
 on that point," Bernard suggested. 
 
 "Of course she might," Honora agreed. "But she 
 is afraid that pity would make him pretend to a feeling 
 he did not have." 
 
 "She has an exaggerated opinion of his altruism," 
 Bernard smiled. "He's a good fellow, Julian, but I'm 
 quite sure it would never occur to him to sacrifice himself 
 in such a fashion." 
 
 "But how are we to convince Cecily of that?" 
 
 "We can't convince her: that is for Julian to do." 
 
 "And how is he to convince her, if she continues to 
 refuse to see him?" 
 
 " She can't continue to refuse, unless she shuts 
 herself up for the rest of her life. You may trust him 
 to find or make an opportunity to see her as soon as 
 she becomes accessible." 
 
 "I wouldn't allow him to force himself into her 
 presence against her wishes," Honora protested quickly. 
 
 Bernard smiled again. 
 
 "If I know Julian," he said, "he will not ask you 
 to allow anything." 
 
 And this was indeed what came to pass. Julian 
 accepted Cecily's decision without remonstrance, and 
 with a quietness which perhaps surprised that young 
 lady, although she made no comment upon it. Mean- 
 while nature continued her wonderful work of restora- 
 tion in the vigorous young physique. But presently 
 doctors, nurses, and above all Honora, noted a change 
 
 [3ii] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 in the patient. The mysterious spring of life and energy 
 already alluded to, which for a time had risen so high, 
 sank down again without apparent cause; and there 
 followed a condition of listlessness, of physical and 
 mental depression, from which nothing was powerful 
 enough to rouse the girl. Prescriptions and tonics of 
 all kinds were tried without effect, and at last — 
 
 "The depression is more mental than physical; 
 or, rather, the physical condition is the result of mental 
 depression," the doctor in charge of the case said to 
 Honora. "Is there no way of rousing her? Has she 
 no interests in life?" 
 
 Honora looked at him with startled eyes. It had 
 not occurred to her before that Cecily had no interests 
 in life which were not wiped out of existence by the 
 present tragical situation. 
 
 "I — I hardly think that she has any strong enough 
 to rouse her," she answered. "You see, she is very 
 young, and she thought only of pleasure and — and of 
 amusing herself — " 
 
 The doctor nodded. 
 
 "I see," he commented dryly, for the case was 
 common enough. "It's a pity that she hasn't some 
 resources — something that she — er — cares for, outside 
 of pleasure and amusement. But of course we must 
 take things as we find them. If there's no mental 
 stimulant which can be applied, then we must simply 
 go on with the tonics, try keeping her outdoors as 
 much as possible, and after a while perhaps change 
 of air—" 
 
 What more he said Honora did not hear, but she 
 did not probably betray her inattention; for she 
 presently found herself alone, staring at a prescription 
 
 {312 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 in her hand, and wondering where she was to find the 
 mental stimulant of which Cecily stood in so much 
 need, — Cecily whose life lay before her in ruins, the 
 extent of which she did not yet know. And while she 
 was still asking herself this question, and still staring 
 with unseeing eyes at the hieroglyphics scribbled on 
 the paper in her hand, a familiar voice suddenly spoke 
 at her side. 
 
 "Forgive me for intruding!" it said. And then, 
 as she started violently: "Oh, I am sorry to have 
 startled you so much!" 
 
 She turned to look into Julian Page's eager, 
 apologetic face. 
 
 "I am so sorry!" he repeated; and she smiled 
 tremulously as she held out her hand to him. 
 
 "Never mind!" she said. "I am, as I heard Mrs. 
 Kemp say the other day, ' as nervous as a cat ' ; and if 
 one's nerves are all on edge, one is naturally startled 
 by even so simple a thing as an unexpected voice. 
 I — I didn't hear you come in." 
 
 "Of course you didn't." He was still eagerly self- 
 reproachful. "It was very inconsiderate of me, but I 
 came in without announcement of any kind. The fact 
 is, I met Dr. Brent just as he was getting into his 
 car, and I made him stop and tell me about Cecily. 
 And what he told me sent me in such hot haste to 
 you that I rushed in without any formalities of door 
 bells or servants, being only afraid of not finding 
 you." 
 
 "Ah, he told you about Cecily! And what exactly 
 did he tell you?" 
 
 "I understood him to say that it was what he 
 had just been telling you: that her injuries are getting 
 
 [313 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 on satisfactorily, but that her general condition is not 
 satisfactory at all. He says that her vitality is at a 
 very low ebb, — that it is impossible to rouse her to 
 interest in anything." 
 
 "Yes, that is what he said," Honora assented. 
 "And I didn't need for him to say it: I see it every 
 day with my own eyes. She is going down, rather 
 than coming up, in physical strength; and it's because 
 she is realizing now, as she didn't realize at first, what 
 has happened to her. At first she was too glad and 
 grateful to be alive to think of the future; but she is 
 thinking of it now, and she sees it — my poor Cecily! — 
 empty of everything on earth for which she ever cared. 
 She doesn't know yet" (Honora's eyes were full of 
 passionate pain as she gazed at him "all that she has 
 lost; but she knows enough to take away the will 
 to live, and without that she can't get well." 
 
 "No, sht can't get well without that," Julian agreed. 
 "The doctor says that what she stands most in need 
 of is a mental stimulant." 
 
 "So he told me. But where" (Honora flung out 
 her hands despairingly) — -"where, in the name of 
 Heaven, am I to find a mental stimulant for her?" 
 
 "Suppose," the young man said quietly, "that you 
 try meV 
 
 "You!" She stared at him blankly for a moment; 
 and then, as his meaning flashed upon her, she cried: 
 "Oh, do you think it possible that you could prove 
 the stimulant she needs?" 
 
 "At least I should be better than none," he replied 
 modestly. "And it would do no harm to make the 
 experiment." 
 
 "I am not sure of that. You know she has refused 
 to see you." f *\a ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 He nodded. "I know. And really — if you'll pardon 
 me for saying so — that fact ought to have told you 
 that I was the stimulant she needed. If Cecily were 
 indifferent to me, do you think she would care whether 
 or not she saw me, whether or not I found her beauty 
 gone? It's because she is not indifferent, because she 
 does care, that she is afraid to take the risk. I've felt 
 so sure of that, that I thought I could afford to wait. 
 But I see now it was a mistake, and that's what I 
 rushed in to tell you as soon as the doctor left. Give 
 me a chance to see her and stimulate her interest in 
 life again." 
 
 A little later, two guilty conspirators stole softly 
 upstairs; and one paused with a fast-beating heart 
 outside Cecily's room, while the other entered, and 
 called the nurse, who was elaborately engaged in 
 doing nothing, into a dressing-room which adjoined 
 the large, airy chamber. The sound of the closing 
 door between the two apartments was the signal agreed 
 upon; and the next moment Julian stepped boldly 
 within the room, and saw Cecily for the first time since 
 he had helped to bring her, shattered and unconscious, 
 from the wreck of the automobile. 
 
 With that ghastly picture in his memory, he could 
 hardly credit the evidence of his eyes when they fell 
 upon her now. She was lying on a low, broad couch 
 beside the open window, beyond which were a balcony, 
 the whispering boughs of trees, their greenness shot 
 through with golden sunshine, and glimpses of a sky 
 as blue as sapphire. Against this background the 
 slender figure lay with the grace that was inalienable 
 to it, despite the immobility of the plaster-encased 
 
 [3i5] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 limbs, over which a silken coverlet was thrown. A 
 boudoir cap covered the head, from which he knew 
 that the glorious hair had been ruthlessly shorn to 
 ascertain the extent of the injuries which had barely 
 escaped fracture of the skull. It was the absence of 
 the hair perhaps, together with the close-drawn cap 
 about the thin, white, chiselled face, across one side 
 of which there were still long strips of surgeon's plaster, 
 which made him feel as if he were looking at a new 
 Cecily, — a Cecily whom he had never seen before, with 
 something strangely virginal, remote, and almost nun- 
 like in her aspect, as she lay in her soft white draperies, 
 gazing with wide eyes out of the window at the depths 
 of green foliage and the jewel-like sky beyond. 
 
 He crossed the floor with a light, quick step, and 
 knelt down beside her before she was aware of his 
 presence. Then she turned her eyes upon him, and 
 he felt her quiver a little as she uttered a low cry. 
 
 "Julian!" she exclaimed; and, while he lifted her 
 hand and kissed it, she added with a catch in her breath : 
 "Don't you know — haven't you heard — that I said I 
 would not see you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, I heard it!" he replied. "But you didn't 
 think I would accept that decision, did you?" 
 
 "You had no right to disregard it," she said; but 
 he felt that there was no anger in her tone, and this 
 emboldened him further. 
 
 "I had the best right in the world," he answered, — 
 "the right of love; and you know it, Cecily, — you 
 know it." 
 
 She shook her head, while her eyes — so large and 
 brilliant in the wasted face — met his own steadily. 
 
 "I don't know it," she said. "Even if it were true, 
 
 [316] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 your love alone wouldn't give you such a right — " 
 
 "What do you mean by saying 'if it were true'?" 
 he interrupted. "You dare not doubt my love for you. 
 I don't think any man could ever have expressed his 
 love more forcibly and more frequently than I have 
 done." 
 
 'You expressed it forcibly and frequently enough," 
 she assented; "but that was to another person — a 
 very different person from the poor wreck who is lying 
 here—" 
 
 "Cecily!" 
 
 "Oh, hush, hush!" she cried. "Don't make protes- 
 tations which can't be true. You are an artist: you 
 were in love with my beauty, and the beauty is gone. 
 Therefore, of course, the love is gone too. No doubt 
 some pity remains, but I don't want that. I told 
 Honora so, and she should not have let you come. It 
 was a great mistake; and, if you are kind, you will 
 go away now at once." 
 
 "I am not kind at all, if my kindness is to be 
 measured by my obeying such a request as that," he 
 replied. "If I went away, I should seem to be assenting 
 to the preposterous statement that because I am an 
 artist and because you are beautiful — " 
 
 "Were beautiful," she corrected. 
 
 "Very well, in order to avoid argument, we'll say 
 because you were beautiful, — I could have loved you 
 only for your beauty. Now, you know, talking of 
 rights, you haven't the faintest right to make such 
 an assumption as that: and I beg to tell you, on my 
 honor as a man, that it is as far as possible from the 
 truth. P may have had some such fancy myself, while 
 I was painting your portrait and adoring it; though 
 
 [3i7] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 even then, if I had stopped to analyze my feelings, I 
 should have known better; for I have learned long 
 since how devoid of any lasting power to attract, soulless 
 and mindless beauty is. But when the shock of tragedy 
 came, when I went down into the depths, and in spirit 
 faced death with you, I found that I loved with my 
 whole heart yourself, the woman who appealed to me 
 irresistibly, whether a shred of your beauty remained 
 or not." 
 
 The lovely eyes opened wider still as she gazed at 
 him. 
 
 "But how could that be," she asked with struggling 
 incredulity, "when I had never showed you anything, 
 any quality that was worthy of love? I have been 
 thinking about that as I lay here — I've had a great 
 deal of time in which to think, you know, — and it 
 seems to me that I have never known or heard of a 
 more repulsive character than the one I showed to you; 
 and I took pains to show no other." 
 
 "You certainly did your best or worst to make 
 me think that loving you was hopeless," he agreed; 
 "but perhaps it was because you painted yourself too 
 darkly that I didn't believe it all. I was sure you were 
 not so selfish and worldly as you professed to be — " 
 
 "There's where you are mistaken," she interrupted 
 sharply. "All that I professed to be I was. If you 
 don't believe that, you will never understand me. 
 Everything I said I intended to do I would have done. 
 I would have put you aside, and used Honora ruth- 
 lessly, and gone my way into the world to gratify my 
 vanity and ambition, if — if God had not thrown me 
 down and broken me to pieces. You must never doubt 
 that, Julian,- — never!" 
 
 [318] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "If you insist upon it, I will not doubt it," he 
 responded, "any more than I doubt that you were all 
 the time fighting your better self." 
 
 "I did not know," she cried, "that I had a better 
 self!" 
 
 He kissed again the frail hand he had been holding. 
 
 "You know it now," he said. "You found it out 
 in the dark depths where you have been, and where, 
 as I told you a moment ago, I have been with you. 
 We've both learned things there that we can never 
 forget, Cecily; and one of them is that we have need 
 of each other." 
 
 "You have no need of me," she still protested; 
 "for what can I do, or be to you, except a burden?" 
 
 "Even as a burden, you would be more desirable 
 than anybody or anything else on earth," he answered 
 with a sincerity she could not doubt. "But you will 
 not be a burden. You are going to get well, and be 
 your own vigorous, beautiful self again." 
 
 "You are dreaming," she told him. "I shall be 
 a cripple and disfigured — " 
 
 "You will be neither," he asserted positively. 
 "But it would make no difference if you were; for it 
 is love alone that matters, and you can't deny that 
 we have that." 
 
 It was Cecily's own smile that for the first time 
 came over her face like a gleam of sunshine, as she 
 answered : 
 
 "You take a great deal for granted; but I'm afraid 
 I can't — denv it." 
 
 319 ] 
 
XXIV. 
 
 AND now," Honora said to Bernard, "the time 
 has come for the final steps to be taken. I 
 must tell Cecily first (I think she is able to bear 
 it now), and then I must tell Mr. Maxwell that I have 
 no longer any right to hold Mr. Chisholm's fortune. 
 And then — then I can enter the Church, with empty 
 hands, but, oh, such a grateful heart ! For I am grateful 
 not only for the gift of faith — which is above every- 
 thing else, — but for the wonderful manner in which 
 the way has been opened and made easy to me. I 
 could never have dreamed that it would have been made 
 so easy at last." 
 
 "What you lacked was trust in God," Bernard 
 replied, smiling at her. "I grant that it would have 
 required an heroic degree of trust and faith to fling 
 everything aside and answer His call when you heard 
 it first. And so it was made easier for you. But it is 
 hard enough yet. Do you think I don't know that? 
 Do you think I don't realize what is before you in 
 telling Cecily?" 
 
 "It will be hard," Honora admitted; "but it can 
 not be deferred; for, as she grows stronger, she is 
 beginning to make plans, all of which depend for their 
 fulfilment on the possession of money. She will not 
 understand, poor Cecily. But she will not suffer as 
 she would have suffered a little while ago; and for 
 
 [320] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 that I can never be grateful enough to Julian Page." 
 "While, odd as it may seem, Julian on his part is 
 intensely grateful to you," Bernard told her; "for he 
 feels that you have given him a chance to restore 
 Cecily's faith in the possibility of disinterestedness in 
 a man's love, such as he could never have found or 
 made for himself. She must have said something 
 in the past which proved her deep scepticism on this 
 point; for his first exclamation, when he heard what 
 you intended to do, was of pleasure approaching to 
 exultation." 
 
 "He expressed something of the same kind to me 
 when I told him that I was sorry I had forgotten to 
 warn him of the impending change in Cecily's circum- 
 stances. 'You paid me the compliment of realizing 
 that it is of no importance to me in one point of view,' 
 he said, ' and of such great importance in another that 
 I am very glad it is to occur.'" 
 
 "And did that sentiment surprise you?" 
 "No," she answered; "for I know the people he 
 comes of; and I also know how vehemently Cecily 
 declared her own worldliness, and her cynical dis- 
 belief in anything but self-interest ruling anybody, 
 which she learned in an atmosphere where money is 
 supreme." 
 
 "No wonder he was glad of a chance to shatter 
 that belief once for all, and that he goes about in these 
 days with the air of a conqueror." Bernard paused for 
 a moment, and then, "I'm quite sure," he went on, 
 "that Julian has been entirely reticent on the subject 
 of your resolution to enter the Church; but it seems 
 that an inkling of the matter has in some manner 
 got abroad. Miss Rainesford tells me that people 
 
 [321 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 are talking, are wondering what you mean to do, — 
 how you can reconcile your relations with me, and 
 your visits to the church here, with the condition on 
 which my uncle left his fortune to you. I think it well 
 that you should know this." 
 
 "It is well that I should," she replied quickly; 
 "for it proves what I said a moment ago — that the 
 time has come for me to act; that I am now in a false 
 position, which, for your sake as well as for my own, 
 must be ended. People must learn that we are not 
 trying to evade your uncle's condition." 
 
 "Never mind about me," he said. "I am well inured 
 to being an object of reprobation, mingled with pitying 
 contempt; and I shall of course be held accountable 
 for your conversion. We must expect that." 
 
 "But I shall tell everyone to the contrary!" she 
 cried. "I shall make people understand that, instead 
 of trying to make me a Catholic, you really — " 
 
 "Don't say that I tried to prevent your becoming 
 one," he interrupted, with a laugh. "It wasn't quite 
 as bad as that, you know." 
 
 "It was quite as bad as that," she said decidedly. 
 "You were so afraid of putting me in a difficult position, 
 you were so sure that I would not have strength for 
 the sacrifice demanded, that you avoided the subject; 
 you would tell me nothing. . . . Oh, I am not saying 
 that you were not quite right in your opinion! But 
 there is the fact that you made not the least effort to 
 convert me, except — " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 "Except by what you did not say, if you can under- 
 stand me. I felt all the time that you possessed some- 
 thing which you did not think I was worthy of being 
 shown — " [ 322 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 "Oh, no, no, not that!" 
 
 "Just that— or, at least, so I felt. And it angered 
 me that you would not tell me things which, uncon- 
 sciously to myself, I longed so much to know. . . . Oh, 
 don't look so sorry! There is nothing to be sorry about. 
 You were quite right in your attitude. The more I 
 had known, the worse it would have been for me, 
 since I do not think anything could have made me 
 yield except what happened. And then — well, then 
 you were everything to me." 
 
 "Thank God for that!" he said, as he kissed the 
 hand she held out to him. 
 
 The task from which Honora shrank — of informing 
 Cecily of what lay before her — proved, however, less 
 difficult than she feared; for she had not reckoned 
 upon Cecily's keenness of perception. 
 
 "You have something to tell me?" the latter re- 
 marked, when, gathering the necessary courage, Honora 
 sat down beside her couch in the summer dusk, and 
 hesitatingly began to open the way for explanation. 
 "But perhaps I can spare you the telling; for I have 
 not been altogether blind and deaf, in spite of my 
 condition. You and Bernard are in love with each 
 other, and you are going to marry him." 
 
 "Some day perhaps — when you are quite well again, 
 and able to make a home for yourself," Honora answered. 
 "But, Cecily, that is not all. I — I am going to take 
 another step which can not be longer delayed." 
 
 "Ah!" It was a sharp exclamation, but not alto- 
 gether of surprise. "You intend to become a Catholic? " 
 
 "My dear, yes! But how have you guessed it?" 
 
 "By instinct, I suppose," Cecily answered, — "just 
 as one has sometimes an intuition of a danger before 
 
 [323] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 it comes. I haven't had much to go upon, but I felt — 
 oh, for some time before I went away — that you were 
 attracted, not only by Bernard but by Bernard's 
 religion. I did not like to acknowledge it even to 
 myself, but I was afraid of this attraction. And that 
 was one reason why I determined that we must go 
 abroad. I felt that I couldn't trust you to resist — that 
 I must take things in hand and save you from yourself. 
 But I haven't made a very brilliant success of it, after 
 all; have I?" 
 
 The penetrating bitterness of the last words made 
 Honora suddenly fall upon her knees and put her arms 
 about the slender, immobile figure. 
 
 "My dearest," she said, "we were both fighting 
 against God for the same end, and we couldn't succeed! 
 He was merciful enough not to allow us to order things 
 as we wanted, for it would have meant — O Cecily, I 
 see so clearly now that it would have meant the ruin 
 of us both! And I think that you must see it, too." 
 
 "No" (Cecily had no intention of admitting so 
 much as this), "I don't see why it should necessarily 
 have meant our ruin. That seems to me a very extrav- 
 agant way of putting the matter. Of course I grant that 
 I should have become dreadfully worldly, having a 
 pronounced inclination that way; and that you 
 probably wouldn't have been happy — " 
 
 "I should have been absolutely miserable." 
 
 "Well, in that case I'll admit that things are better 
 as they are, though it has certainly been at a terrible 
 cost." 
 
 "Terrible to you, my poor darling, who have had 
 to suffer for my weakness and cowardice!" 
 
 "That," Cecily stated, "I regard as nonsense. I 
 
 [324] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 understand, however, that you were preparing to 
 sacrifice yourself for me in a more complete sense 
 than I had any idea of; and, therefore, it is much more 
 likely that I am suffering for my selfishness than for 
 your weakness, if you insist upon reading some such 
 meaning into the suffering." 
 
 "I am quite certain that the meaning is there." 
 
 "It may be," Cecily sighed, — and the sigh may 
 be forgiven her, since it is hard for human nature to 
 recognize the good hidden under suffering. "But if 
 you are going to become a Catholic, what will you do 
 about your fortune?" 
 
 "It will not be my fortune any longer," Honora 
 answered quietly. "I must give it up." 
 
 "But how can you do that? We shall have — 
 nothing." 
 
 "O Cecily, do you think I have not thought of 
 that, and gone down into the depths of agony over it? 
 But I gave up the struggle when I heard that you were 
 dying. I went into the presence of God and solemnly 
 promised that, if you were spared, I would even accept 
 poverty for you. I promised to make the sacrifice I 
 had thought I could never make, and He spared you. 
 And now what kind of a traitor should I be if I did not 
 keep my promise?" 
 
 "So that was it!" Cecily murmured, as if to herself. 
 She turned her eyes to the blue sky beyond the window 
 by which she lay, with the introspective gaze of one 
 who has a sudden illumination upon some mystery 
 of the past. There was silence for a moment, and 
 then, "I had an instinct of something of that kind, 
 too," she went on slowly. "It was very strange. I 
 didn't know how much was imagination, and I've 
 
 [325 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 fancied since that perhaps it was all so; but you 
 remember I told you how I was conscious of calling 
 on you for help?" 
 
 "I remember," Honora said in a low tone; "and 
 I felt the call, — God let me feel it in a way not to be 
 mistaken." 
 
 "Well, I felt that you knew and that you were 
 helping me. I didn't know, or even ask, how you 
 possibly could help me — I was too far gone even to 
 wonder over that, — but I just had an assurance of it, 
 as if you had put your hand in mine, and there came 
 a great sense of relief and safety, and — and that was 
 all till I waked up and saw you." 
 
 "O Cecily!" Honora's head went down on the 
 pillow beside the pale face which lay there, and for 
 a little while only her tears could speak for her further. 
 
 At length it was Cecily who said, with another 
 long sigh: 
 
 "It seems very strange that the fortune should 
 have come to you just in order that you might give it 
 up. And — and it would be very hard, if it were not 
 that I know you and Bernard will be happy; and I 
 don't believe that Julian will mind very much when 
 he hears that I am poor, as well as helpless and 
 disfigured — " 
 
 Honora raised her head quickly. 
 
 "My darling, Julian knows!" she said. "He knew 
 before he came and insisted on seeing you. Bernard 
 had told him; and he was very glad, because he said 
 that then you would believe — " 
 
 "Oh, hush, hush!" Cecily cried. "Don't make me 
 feel too utterly contemptible. But I am glad, too, — 
 glad that he knew, and that I didn't know, what you 
 
 [326] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 are going to do, before I answered him as I did." 
 
 It is almost unnecessary to state that Kingsford 
 was shaken from centre to circumference by a shock 
 such as it had never known before when vague gossip 
 and faint surmise gave place to the authoritative 
 information that Honora Trezevant was about to lay 
 down her rich inheritance, and return to the poverty 
 from which it had lifted her, in order to enter the 
 Catholic Church. Even Bernard Chisholm's conver- 
 sion had made no such sensation; for the circumstances 
 in his case had not been half so dramatic, nor the 
 sacrifice nearly so great. It had been wonderful enough 
 to see a young man renounce a fortune in order to 
 embrace an unpopular religion; but it was well known 
 that he was not reduced to poverty by his choice, and 
 also that he had abilities which would enable him 
 to make a career for himself without such assistance. 
 But with Honora the situation was altogether diflerent. 
 Here was a girl who knew the full bitterness which 
 poverty carries for the well-born and gently bred; 
 who had tasted the ineffable relief which comes from 
 ease of circumstances, from wealth and the power 
 wealth brings; and who had not only herself to con- 
 sider in laying down this wealth, but a sister filled with 
 worldly ambitions, and who was now tragically crippled 
 and helpless. Reflecting upon these things, people 
 could only gaze at each other in speechless amazement. 
 Comment was manifestly inadequate; for no one felt 
 able to account for an action to which none of the 
 ordinary rules governing human conduct could be 
 applied. 
 
 "Is she insane?" a few tentatively inquired; only 
 
 [327] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 to be met by the positive assurance from those who 
 knew her best, "No more insane than you or I." 
 
 Explanation of some kind had to be forthcoming, 
 however, — since no one was, of course, so utterly 
 foolish as to admit the compelling nature of the claims 
 of the Church. And, as was to be expected, this 
 explanation was found in the influence which Bernard 
 Chisholm was supposed to have exerted to convert 
 Honora. Opinion with regard to his motives was much 
 divided; but there was almost unanimous consensus 
 on the point that his conduct was quite indefensible, 
 and that it was an altogether shameful thing to have 
 taken advantage of the poor girl's infatuation for him 
 to make her renounce her fortune by embracing the 
 Catholic Faith. 
 
 "There's no good in telling them that Bernard 
 has done nothing of the kind," Julian Page said indig- 
 nantly to Edith Selwyn; "so I've ceased to discuss the 
 subject. It only makes me lose my temper. How people 
 can be such infernal idiots passes my comprehension." 
 
 "Oh, I don't think there's much difficulty in com- 
 prehending that!" Edith replied. "They are obliged 
 to explain the matter on the only ground they can 
 understand. And there's the undeniable fact that 
 Honora and Bernard are in love with each other." 
 
 "But they will both tell you that that was not what 
 made her a Catholic." 
 
 "No doubt they will tell you so, and no doubt 
 they both believe it," Edith conceded. "But do you 
 really think that Honora would have made the tre- 
 mendous sacrifice and become a Catholic but for 
 Bernard's example and influence. I can't think so. I 
 won't talk about 'infatuation,' as people are foolishly 
 
 [328] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 talking; but I am sure that she is very impressionable, 
 and that, whether he meant to do so or not, he influ- 
 enced her tremendously. Why, what else could make 
 her do such a thing as this?" 
 
 And in the face of that question Julian was dumb; 
 for he felt that Edith had unconsciously spoken of 
 herself, as well as of others, when she said that it was 
 necessary for people to explain such an action on 
 the only ground they could understand. And the 
 claims of human love, the influence of human example, 
 were comprehensible; while the claims of divine truth 
 upon the conscience, and the compelling influence of 
 divine love upon the heart, are things which have 
 passed out of the range even of the imagination of 
 those who have been taught that religion is a matter 
 purely of personal choice and fancy. It spoke well for 
 Julian's own imagination that he was able to grasp 
 another point of view; but an instinct told him that to 
 press it would be useless. 
 
 Meanwhile Honora had seen Mr. Maxwell, and 
 astounded that worthy man by the announcement 
 of her purpose. He was, indeed, amazed to the point 
 of incredulity. 
 
 "Good Heavens!" he ejaculated, as he leaned back 
 in his chair and stared at her. "Do you mean to tell 
 me that you are really going to become a Roman 
 Catholic, when you know what the step in your case 
 entails?" 
 
 She smiled charmingly as she returned his gaze. 
 
 "Yes, dear Mr. Maxwell," she said, "that is what 
 I really mean to tell you. I know you are surprised — " 
 
 "Surprised is no word for it," he interrupted. "I 
 
 [3*9] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 am simply confounded. And I can't believe you appre- 
 ciate what you are proposing to do. It — it is incredible ! ' ' 
 
 "It should not be incredible to you," she reminded 
 him, "since you have seen it done before." 
 
 "That's the worst of it!" he cried sharply. "One 
 such act of folly was bad enough; but when it has 
 led to another — for I can't think that you would have 
 dreamed of such a step as this but for Bernard Chisholm, 
 who seems to have become a perfect fanatic with 
 regard to his religion!" 
 
 "So far from that," Honora assured him earnestly, 
 "Bernard has never, from first to last, made an effort 
 for my conversion. If I must tell you the truth, it 
 was I who tried to convert him back to Protestantism, 
 and who for this reason forced the discussion of the 
 subject on him. Do you remember the letter which 
 Mr. Chisholm left for me? Yes, I see that you do. 
 Well, the injunction laid on me in that letter was to 
 employ every means in my power to induce Bernard 
 to give up his religion. And, in return for the fortune 
 left me, I felt bound to obey that injunction." 
 
 "One moment, please!" The lawyer was staring 
 at her as if a light were breaking on him. "Was that 
 why you were so anxious to keep Bernard here; and 
 why you did not seem to regard the property as your 
 own?" 
 
 "I have never felt as if it were my own," she an- 
 swered simply. " It was left to me for a specific purpose, 
 which I soon realized that it was impossible for me to 
 fulfil; and which, after a little while, I had not even 
 any desire to fulfil. And, this being so, I would have 
 given it up some time ago but for the thought of my 
 sister. I could not face the necessity of casting her 
 
 [33o] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 back into poverty. But it has been made clear to me 
 that I had no right to hesitate on that account, — that 
 I would be doing her more harm than good. And, 
 therefore, I am here to tell you that I have no longer 
 any right to hold Mr. Chisholm's fortune, since I can 
 not fulfil the conditions on which he gave it to me." 
 
 "You know," he reminded her, "that, so far as the 
 letter of which you have spoken and the injunctions 
 in it are concerned, they are not binding upon you 
 in any legal sense whatever." 
 
 "But that I should not become a Catholic is binding 
 in a legal sense, is it not?" 
 
 "Mr. Chisholm certainly meant to make it so," 
 the lawyer admitted. "He was very much of a bigot — 
 my poor old friend! — and extremely anxious that his 
 money should not come into Catholic hands." 
 
 Honora opened her own hands, as if to show that 
 they were empty. 
 
 "That being so," she said, "neither Bernard nor 
 I would keep it, if the law gave it to us; and we shall 
 certainly make no effort to evade the condition of 
 inheritance. I am about to become a Catholic; and, 
 therefore, you, as executor of the will, must take the 
 estate and do with it whatever Mr. Chisholm has 
 directed to be done in such an event." 
 
 "Have you no idea what that is?" he asked, looking 
 at her keenly. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 "Not the least. I know that the will speaks of a 
 letter of instruction for the executor, in case of certain 
 contingencies arising; but I have felt no curiosity 
 about it, since it did not concern me." 
 
 Mr. Maxwell cleared his throat as if he found a 
 
 [33i ] 
 
THE vSECRET BEQUEST 
 
 little difficulty in answering for a moment. Then — 
 "It does concern you, indirectly at least, very 
 much," he said. "Mr. Chisholm has left a list of the 
 heirs to whom, in due order of inheritance, he desires 
 that, in such a contingency as a conversion to the 
 Catholic Church, his estate shall pass. The name 
 which follows your own is that of Julian Page. Mr. 
 Chisholm had always a great liking for that young man." 
 "Julian Page!" Honora gasped, while her wide 
 eyes grew brilliant with incredulous joy. "Oh, surely 
 God is good! And to think that I did not trust Him!" 
 
 'Yes, God was indeed good when He ordered all 
 that has come to pass," Bernard agreed with her a 
 little later. "You were given the opportunity to make 
 a great sacrifice; and, having made it — " 
 
 "I am not only spared all the result of it for Cecily 
 that I dreaded, but I am rewarded far beyond anything 
 that I deserve," she interrupted. "For this is what I 
 would have desired above all things — that Julian 
 should have the fortune. And yet I never once thought 
 of it as possible." 
 
 "Nor I," Bernard said; "but I see now that he was 
 always a possibility in my uncle's mind. I think that, 
 failing me, he would have made him his heir at once, 
 if the remembrance of you had not occurred to him, and 
 if he had not discerned a hope of influencing me through 
 you. Strange, isn't it, how that hope of his has worked 
 out, and how he has been the instrument to bring our 
 lives together in a way he could never have foreseen? 
 And this reminds me, — isn't it time that you should 
 tell me all that he wrote in that letter of his to you?" 
 
 For answer she rose, went to her desk, and after 
 
 [332 ] 
 
THE SECRET BEQUEST 
 
 a moment came back with the letter in her hand, — 
 the letter with whose contents she was so familiar. 
 
 "Here it is," she said; "and I am sure you will 
 find it as pathetic as I do, and will feel more than ever 
 how much we owe to him, though not exactly in the 
 manner he intended." 
 
 But, although she said this, slie was not prepared 
 for the deep emotion which Bernard's face showed when 
 he looked up presently from the last lines of the letter. 
 
 "Poor, dear Uncle Alexander!" he said. "May 
 God pardon his ignorance, and give him the satisfaction 
 of knowing the happiness we have found in each other, 
 and in the Faith he now surely understands!" 
 
 [333] 
 
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