Lafcadio Hearn - "Kokoro"

Henry Thomas Hamblin - "Within You is the Power"

Alexander Pushkin - "Marie"

Charles Brockden Brown - "Jane Talbot"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Herb of Grace

R >> Rosa Nouchette Carey >> Herb of Grace




"Well, Elizabeth, what is it?" asked Mr. Carlyon, as she still sat
beside him in a brown study, and her brow puckered and lined with
thought. "I am sure I have been patient enough." Then she started
and laughed a little nervously.

"How stupid I am this afternoon! And I have so much to tell you. I
am so ashamed of myself, for I ought to be in such good spirits. The
young people have come to an understanding at last. Cedric and Anna
have written to Dinah; I left her crying for joy over their
letters."

"I do not wonder at that--Miss Sheldon is a sweet girl."

"Cedric thinks she is perfect. I wish you could have seen his
letter: he is rapturously happy. And Anna writes so sweetly: she
says it seems like a dream; that she can hardly believe in her
happiness; that she does not deserve it, and that Cedric is
everything that she could desire."

"Ah, they are young--life does not seem long to them, does it,
Elizabeth?" She smiled and shook her head.

"Cedric is going to bring her down on Wednesday, and he wants Mr.
Herrick to come too. Dinah means to ask him, I believe. I tell her
that he is far too busy and important a personage to trouble with
our small family concerns; but Dinah was quite indignant when I said
that."

"She has greater faith in his friendship, you see." But to this
Elizabeth made no answer. She went on talking with assumed eagerness
of the young couple.

"Cedric intends to be married soon," she said. "Mr. Strickland is
going to let them have the Priory, and has taken a cottage for his
own use. How charmed Anna will be when she sees it--the garden is a
dream of beauty, and the house is delightful!" For each summer she
and Dinah had spent weeks at the Priory, and had succeeded in
transforming the place. Anna would have a lovely home, and the
simple country life would be far more to her taste than ever town
had been. Even Mrs. Herrick, who would feel her loss keenly, owned
this.

"And Mr. Herrick is to be asked on this grand occasion? I am glad of
that, Elizabeth;" and here Mr. Carlyon pushed up his spectacles and
peered at her in his mild, short-sighted way. "Do you know, my
child, there is something I have been wanting to say to you for a
long time, and I may as well say it now."

Elizabeth looked at him rather apprehensively: there was something
significant in his manner.

"Something? What do you mean?" she faltered,

"You have been a dear good daughter to me," he went on, clearing his
throat from a slight huskiness, "and if you were my own flesh and
blood you could not be more to me. We have so much in common, have
we not, my dear--and then we both loved David."

"Yes--yes," she murmured, and the ready tears sprang to her eyes.

"We mourned for our dear boy together," he went on slowly, "and
groped our way hand in hand through the darkness. How unhappy we
were three years ago! Even now it is painful to look back on those
days, but, thank God! time and His grace have helped us, and we no
longer suffer."

"I am not so sure of that," returned Elizabeth in a low voice; but
he seemed not to hear her.

"You have been very faithful, Elizabeth. If you had been David's
widow you could not have mourned for him more deeply; but, as
David's father, I would bid you mourn no more."

She stared at him with parted lips, but the words would not come.

"Why should you spoil your life, Elizabeth? You are only thirty-
five, and please God there are many, many years before you. Why is
your heart to be empty and your arms unfilled because our precious
boy is in paradise? Do you know, my dear, we often spoke of this--he
and I. Thank God, there were no secrets between us, and he told me
more than once that the thought of your future was always on his
mind."

Elizabeth bowed her head on her hands. She was weeping now, though
the tears came very quietly. "If he had only talked to me!" she
murmured.

"He tried to do so more than once," returned Mr. Carlyon, "but each
time you stopped him. Would you like me to tell you what he said as
well as I can remember his words?" She nodded, but her face was
still hidden.

"It was at Ventnor, and very near the end, and he was talking about
you--living or dying you were his one thought. 'I know how she will
grieve,' he said to me, 'but, father, you must not let her grieve
too long. I think it would trouble me even in paradise--if such a
thing could be--if I thought I had spoilt her life. Elizabeth is
made for happiness--she must not waste her sweetness.' And then--
shall I go on?" but all the same he did not wait for consent--"it
was then that David told me something that I had guessed before--
that some one else loved you, and loved you dearly. I am right, am I
not, Elizabeth?" No answer, but he could see how her hands clutched
each other, as though in sudden agitation.

"'I was beforehand, and he had no chance,' David went on, 'but he is
my superior in everything'--he was always so humble in his own
estimation, dear fellow. 'Father, Malcolm Herrick worships the
ground she walks on. One day he must have his reward.'"

"Oh, hush--hush, for pity's sake," and Elizabeth stretched out her
hand to stop him, but he detained it gently.

"Elizabeth, three years are long enough for mourning, and Mr.
Herrick has been very patient. Why should another life be spoiled?
Why should you doom him as well as yourself to loneliness? I have
not forgotten his look that evening when you were singing to us--it
was the look of a man who is starving for a little happiness, for
the comfort and sweet sustenance that only a wife can give him.
There, I will say no more--I have discharged my conscience, and
repeated my boy's words. I trust they have not been spoken in vain."
His hand rested lightly on her head for a moment as though in
blessing, but no word escaped his lips. Then he rose, and after a
moment Elizabeth joined him, and they walked back silently together.

"You are not vexed with me, my dear?" he asked anxiously, when they
parted at the gate of Rowan Cottage. Then Elizabeth raised her sad
eyes to his.

"Why should I be vexed? You are always so kind--so kind; but you
have said things that have troubled me;" and she left him, and
walked on rapidly until she found herself in the familiar woodland
path, and then she unconsciously slackened her pace.

She felt strangely shaken and agitated. The words her old friend had
spoken had thrilled her as though by an electric shock. It was a
message from the dead. Half-involuntarily she sank down on the bank
in the very spot where Malcolm had picked the honeysuckle. She knew
what it was to be tired now--for the moment she felt weak and
powerless as a little child.

Over and over again she repeated dumbly Mr. Carlyon's words. How
could she doubt that David had spoken them when he had tried with
loving unselfishness to say them to her! Would she ever forget the
tender solemnity of his manner?--

"Elizabeth, life is long as you say, and your great loving heart
must not remain unsatisfied. Do not mourn for me too long--do not
refuse comfort that may be offered to you, if you can be happy,
dear;" but she had stopped him, and he could say no more. Truly, as
his father had said, "living or dying she had been his one thought."
"Oh, how good you were to me, David!" she whispered.

She rose and paced restlessly to and fro, while a bright-eyed robin
watched her from a hazel twig; for other words besides David's were
haunting her, and had been haunting her for two years, thought she
had vainly tried to forget them. Sometimes she would wake from sleep
with her heart beating, and those sad, reproachful words sounding in
her ears--

"I can never be your friend, Elizabeth." And again, "If either of
you want me, I will come if needs be from the ends of the earth."
Would she ever forget the look on his face as he said this!

She had told him then that she should miss him. In these two years
she had only seen him twice, and each time some strange
embarrassment on her part had seemed to estrange them still more. He
was Dinah's friend, not hers--from her he would have all or nothing.
And yet, as time went on, and that vast loneliness of life pressed
on her more and more, and her woman spirit seemed to wander through
waste places seeking rest and finding none, that silent, patient
love, that seemed to enfold her from a distance, began to appeal to
her more strongly. "Why should another life be spoiled?" Mr. Carlyon
had said. "Ah, why indeed?" she murmured.

Then her mood changed; her face grew hot, and there was a pained
look in her eyes. "I have tried him too much," she thought; "there
are limits even to his patience. Last time I noticed a change: he is
growing weary--perhaps he has seen some one else;" and here she
choked down something like a sob and hurried on.

Dinah wondered what was amiss with her that evening; she seemed so
listless and silent, and took so little interest in the absorbing
topic of Cedric's engagement.

The young couple were to arrive the following afternoon, and Dinah
had arranged to drive to Earlsfield to meet them. As they sat down
to luncheon, she said to Elizabeth, "I am so glad that Mr. Herrick
has promised to come to-morrow; I have just had a telegram from
him;" and she handed it to her sister. Elizabeth was rather a long
time reading it. "Shall be with you by dinner-time. Shall take fly.
Stay two nights."

"Is it not good of him to come, when he is so dreadfully busy?"
continued Dinah in her placid, satisfied voice. "Cedric will be
delighted to have him! Do you think we ought to ask Theo and Mr.
Carlyon to dinner, or would Mr. Herrick prefer just a family party?"

"Oh, I think a family party will suit him best," returned Elizabeth
gravely; "Theo rather bores him with her parish talk;" and Dinah
said no more.




CHAPTER XLIII

A MAY AFTERNOON


What is this love that now on angel wing
Sweeps us amid the stars in passionate calm.
--MACDONALD.

Elizabeth stood on the terrace in the sweet stillness of a May
afternoon. She had been gathering flowers for the dinner-table and
drawing-room--masses of white and mauve lilac, long golden trails of
laburnum, dainty pink and white May blossoms--but though the Guelder
roses almost dropped into her hand, she passed them by untouched and
with averted eyes. All her life they had been her special
favourites, but now they recalled too vividly a painful episode--the
day when Malcolm Herrick so sternly and so sorrowfully refused her
his friendship.

Malcolm had been nearly twenty-four hours at the Wood House, and she
had hardly exchanged a dozen words with him, and already he had
signified his intention of returning to town the next morning, in
spite of Cedric's vehement protestations. He had arrived so late the
previous evening that he had had only time for a hasty greeting
before he went to his room to prepare for dinner. During the evening
the young couple had naturally engrossed his attention. A harder-
hearted man than Malcolm would have been touched by Anna's innocent
happiness and her shy pride in her handsome young lover. "Does she
not look lovely!" Elizabeth had said to him in a low voice as they
were all gathered on the terrace after dinner. And indeed the girl
looked very fair and sweet in her white silk dress, with a row of
pearls clasped round her soft throat. "You are right; and yet I
never thought Anna really pretty," he returned in a cool, critical
tone. "Happiness is generally a beautifier, and my little girl
certainly looks her best to-night." And then he went after them; and
Elizabeth saw that Anna was hanging on his arm as they went down the
steps and that Cedric's hand was on his shoulder.

"How happy they are!" she thought a little enviously; "they are both
devoted to him, and he certainly returns their affection. He is good
and kind to every one but me," she continued resentfully: "if Dinah
had said that, he would not have answered her so curtly and then
turned on his heel and left her." Here Elizabeth wilfully ignored
the fact that Cedric had signalled to him somewhat impatiently.

"I believe that he has made a vow not to speak to me if he can help
it."

Elizabeth was in a restless, irritable frame of mind that prevented
her from taking a reasonable view of things. If she had been less
alive to her own embarrassment and discomfort, she would have
discovered for herself that Malcolm was ill at ease too.

If he had not talked much to her, he had watched her closely, and it
had troubled and pained him to see how thin and worn she looked; in
the strong light he had even noticed a faint tinge of gray in her
bright brown hair.

"She is pitiless to herself as well as to me," he said to himself
bitterly; "if she goes on like this, she will be an old woman before
her time. Her life is too limited: it suits Dinah, but it does not
suit Elizabeth. Why should she spend her lime teaching village
children and fagging after that old man"--for Malcolm was growing
hopeless and embittered.

The evening had not been productive of much comfort to either of
them; a sense of widening estrangement, of ever-deepening
misunderstanding kept them apart. When Elizabeth went to the piano--
for she had been induced to resume her singing--Malcolm did not
follow her; neither did she sing one of his favourite songs. Even
when Dinah innocently recalled one that she remembered he loved, and
begged her sister to sing it, Elizabeth obstinately refused. "Oh,
that old thing!" she said contemptuously; "I am so tired of it." But
Malcolm was quite aware of her reason for refusing: she would make
no effort to please him, for fear he should be encouraged to repeat
his offence.

The next morning things were no better. Cedric had asked Malcolm to
walk with them to the valley. It was a glorious morning--bright and
fresh and sweet--"just the day for a prowl," as Cedric said. "You
will come too. Betty?" he continued; but to every one's surprise
Elizabeth demurred to this.

"She was very sorry," she stammered, "but she had promised to go to
Rotherwood."

"Why, we are all going there after luncheon!" exclaimed Cedric.
"Herrick wants to call at the vicarage, so we can leave him there,
and you can go on to Rowan Cottage."

But again Elizabeth hesitated. "It was a great pity," she returned
hurriedly, "but Mr. Carlyon and Theo were going to Earlsfield in the
afternoon, and she wanted to see Theo particularly about the new
school-books that they were to order at Thornton's. Theo makes such
mistakes," she went on: "the last batch was all wrong and had to be
sent back;" and though Cedric argued with her, and Anna put in a
persuasive word or two, Elizabeth was firm. The afternoon would not
do. She was very sorry to be so unsociable; but it could not be
helped--she must go alone.

All this time Malcolm had said no word. Perhaps if he had, Elizabeth
might have been induced to reconsider her decision. The fact was,
she was getting sore as well as unhappy. "If he had wanted me, he
would have asked me to accompany them," she said to herself, never
dreaming that her brusque, decided manner made any such invitation
on his part a sheer impossibility.

So Elizabeth had her way, and spent a long pottering morning in the
schools and in going over accounts with Theo. More than once she put
back her hair from her hot forehead with a gesture of weariness. How
lovely the valley would look! she thought. How dark the shadows of
the firs would lie! while golden shafts of sunlight would penetrate
between the slender stems! She knew where they would be sitting--on
a shady knoll overlooking the Dale farm and the range of hillside
beyond. They would be talking to him about the Priory, and their
future life, and all their hopes and fears; and he would be
listening to them with that kind smile she knew so well on his lips.

"What is the matter with you, Elizabeth?" cried Theo rather
pettishly; "do you know, you have added up all those figures
wrongly?"

"Have I, dear? I am so sorry;" and Elizabeth, with a tired little
sigh, worked her way up the column again. When she had entered the
sum-total, she took up her hat.

"Surely you will wait for father," observed Theo, rather surprised
at this unusual haste; "you know he promised us that he would be
back soon after twelve."

"Yes, I know; but we have a guest staying with us, and I ought not
to absent myself too long. I have seen Mr. Carlyon already and he
will understand. Please give him my love."

Elizabeth could not have told why she was in such a hurry to be
home, or why the morning seemed so endless to her. Theo's tactless
remarks irritated her more than usual; she could hardly control her
impatience as she answered her.

"Theo is very wearisome at times," she thought, as she walked
rapidly through the woodlands.

But after all there had been no need for haste. She found Dinah
alone; the walking party had not returned.

"Oh, how tired you look, Betty dear!"--this had been Dinah's
constant remark of late. "You have been shut up with those noisy
children and Theo all the morning, instead of sitting on the
hillside enjoying the breeze from the moor. I am afraid"--here Dinah
hesitated--"that Mr. Herrick was a little hurt about it. Don't you
think one ought to do something to entertain one's guests?"

This was quite a severe reproof from her gentle sister; but
Elizabeth only laughed a little mirthless laugh.

"He is your guest, not mine, Dinah--you ought to have gone to the
valley yourself"--which was carrying the attack into the enemy's
country. "No one wanted my society--a disagreeable, cross old maid--
eh, Dinah?" Elizabeth's poor little joke nearly ended disastrously,
for her lip quivered and she was very near a sob; but in another
minute she recovered herself, and Dinah wisely said no more.

But the moment Elizabeth saw Malcolm's face at luncheon she knew her
sister was right: he was unusually silent, rather constrained in
manner, and hardly addressed her.

Then an evil spirit of contradiction entered into Elizabeth, and she
became suddenly extremely talkative. To listen to her, Rotherwood
might have been a rustic paradise, full of "village Hampdens and
mute, inglorious Miltons," and that in its idyllic streets peace and
simplicity reigned. Even the heavy, loutish Tommies and Jacks, who
had exasperated her by their dense stupidity that morning, were only
subjects for a humorous anecdote or two, with little effective and
sprightly touches which made Cedric throw back his head with a
boyish laugh. But Malcolm never raised his eyes from his plate. To
him Elizabeth's graphic descriptions were far from amusing. He was
thankful when the meal was over and they were ready to set out for
Rotherwood.

Dinah had some calls to pay, so Elizabeth had the house to herself
for an hour or two; but she would not be idle for a moment. The sun
was hot on the terrace and flower-beds, but the vases were to be
replenished. Dinah had returned and brought her a cup of tea before
she had finished. "I should not be surprised if they all had tea at
the vicarage," she observed, and Elizabeth assented.

But a little later, as she stood on the terrace with a few sprays of
lilac in her hand, which she meant to carry off to her own room, she
heard Cedric's laugh distinctly from the drive. Her cheeks burned
suddenly and a curious revulsion came over her. She had not expected
them back so soon: she was not ready to meet them. She glanced at
the drawing-room windows behind her. It would not do to go in that
way; they would come face to face in the hall. She would go down to
the Pool; no one would look for her there. He--Mr. Herrick--had
never once been there since that day. She knew how he avoided the
place. Yes, she would be safe there, and could get cool and collect
her thoughts, and to-night she would behave better and sing some of
the old songs. Elizabeth was half over the rustic bridge as she made
this resolution; then she walked quickly through the little gap
which led to the shady pool, with its moss-grown boulders; but the
next minute she recoiled in absolute terror. Some one was standing
there, gazing down into the still water, with bent head and folded
arms. It was Malcolm!

She would have crept away; but at the sound of her footsteps he
turned round, and her retreat was cut off. "You quite startled me,
Mr. Herrick," she said rather nervously; "I thought you never came
here." It was the last thing she ought to have said, but she was
confused by the sudden surprise. A faint smile crossed Malcolm's
pale face.

"You are right," he said in a curious undertone, "I have never seen
it since that day, three and a half years ago. But it has haunted
me: more than once I have dreamt of it--such foolish dreams! You
were Ophelia, and the water-weeds were strangling you and dragging
you down, and I was trying to help you."

"Well," with a forced laugh, "did you succeed in saving me?"

"I think not; I have a fancy that you told me that you preferred
strangling to my help. Oh, it was only a dream," as Elizabeth looked
rather horrified at this; "my dreams of the Pool were never happy
ones."

Elizabeth made no reply to this--perhaps words were a little
difficult at the moment. But as Malcolm said no more, she observed
presently--"I suppose you thought you could exorcise the nightmares
by seeing the place again?" Then he turned round and looked her full
in the face, and the lines round his mouth were fixed and stern.

"No," he said with unnatural calmness, "any such exorcism would be
useless in my case; I have only come to take a last look at it."

Elizabeth's strength seemed to forsake her, and she sank down on the
boulder. "What--what do you mean?" she asked faintly.

"What do I mean?" with a bitter laugh, but his eyes flashed
ominously. "I mean that I am a coward. Cowards run away, do they
not? Elizabeth, I am beaten--I confess it--I am going to give it up.
I shall come here no more."

"No more--not come to the Wood House?" Elizabeth could scarcely gasp
out the words.

"No," he replied quietly, "not even to see your sister. I mean to
tell her so before I leave; she will understand me. Why should I
come here to be treated as you have treated me to-day? Each time I
come you show me more plainly that my love and devotion are nothing
to you. Well, dear as you are to me--God only knows how dear--I can
lead my life without you. Yes, I will free myself from my bonds--I
will be no woman's slave."

If she could only speak! The tears were running down her face now;
he must have seen them if he had looked; but as she put up her hands
to hide them, a little choking sob escaped her and reached his ear.

He bent over her and spoke in a gentler tone. "Why are you weeping,
Elizabeth? Are those tears for yourself or me?"

"For myself," she whispered; "because you are leaving me, and I want
you--I want you so."

Strong man as he was, Malcolm trembled from head to foot with the
sudden shock and revulsion. What could she mean? The next minute he
was kneeling on the ground beside her, and had drawn away her hands,
so that she was as defenceless as a child:

"I must see your face, Elizabeth," very firmly. "You are a truthful
woman, you never deceived any one; let me read the truth in your
eyes. You want me you say--does that mean you are beginning to care
for me?"

"I think so;" but Elizabeth's eyes refused to meet his.

"Does it mean that you love me well enough to be my wife?" he asked
again, and his voice thrilled her through and through. Then a lovely
colour came to Elizabeth's face.

"I think I do, Malcolm," she whispered timidly. "I believe I have
been caring a long time, but I would not let myself believe it. Oh,"
dropping her hot cheek against his shoulder, "it nearly broke my
heart when you said you would never come again."

"I meant it, dearest; it seemed to me that my last hope was gone.
Oh, my beloved--my own at last!" and then Malcolm's long, passionate
kiss set the seal to their betrothal, and for a little while there
was the silence of a great peace.

An hour had passed--no one had come in search of them, and the
evening shadows were beginning to steal over the Pool--but still
they sat hand in hand, talking earnestly and lovingly after the
manner of lovers, until the gong warned them that it was time to
return to the house. But even then they lingered.

"Is the spirit of the Pool properly exorcised now, Malcolm?" asked
Elizabeth, with her old playfulness. Then he clasped her close.

"I have her safe in my own keeping. Dearest," in a low, vibrating
tone full of tenderness, "if I ever grow supine or forgetful in my
great happiness, and the memory of these long years of misery and
unrest fade away, you must bring me here and I shall remember."

"You shall remember nothing but that I love you," she whispered.
"Malcolm, you will not leave me to-morrow? I cannot part with you so
soon." And he promised that he would certainly remain over Sunday.

Elizabeth had not entirely laid aside her mourning, but the black
silk dress she selected that evening fitted her exquisitely, and the
dull, heavy folds suited her tall, queenly figure. She looked at
herself for a moment, then with a hesitating hand she fastened a
spray of white lilac in her dress. The next moment there was a
familiar tap at her door, and Dinah, flushed and agitated, came into
the room.