The Bell in the Fog and Other Stories

stlessness and mental calm. Calm flees, however, when the ego is rampant, and to-day, as upon others too recent, Orth's soul was as restless as his feet. He had walked for two hours when he e

s, and turned with the qu

d soul were disintegrating. The child before him was his child, the original of a portrait in which the artist, dead two centuries ago, had missed exact fidelity, after all. The difference, even his rolling

k," she said. "Sha

American, and not of the highest class. The shock was, if possible, m

with asperity. "What is yo

once," she said. "But I don't mind, and I'm glad you're not sick. I'm Mrs. Jennie Root's little girl-my father's dead.

s hand in his. It wa

return and play afterwards. And as I wouldn't have you disappoin

nting for the widow's house, but made up his mind that he would know the history of the child and of all her ancestors, if he had to sit down at table

did not smile, however. Only the warm clasp of the hand in his, the soft thrilling voice of his still mysterio

f a tree, black, and probably petrified. The windows had still their diamond panes, separated, no doubt, by the original lead. Beyond was a large kitchen in which were several women. The old

ctacles. "Ah!" He rose, and offered the author a ch

ove with Blanche, sir," said

h-painted about two hundred years ago. Such extraordinary likenesses do not occur without reason, as a rule, and, as I admired my portrait so deeply that I have written a story about it, you will not think it unnatural if I am more tha

his spectacles in his pocket,

ou is that an ancestor of little Blanche went to wreck and ruin because of some fine lady's doings, and killed himself. The story is that his boys turned out bad. One of them saw his crime, and never got over the shock; he was foolish like, after. The mother was a po

ing woman. Orth typed her as belonging to the small middl

t the child

gh her brothers and sisters are good enough for anybody to be proud of. But we all think she stra

t her boys were clerks, her girls in stores, or type-writing. They kept her and little Blanche-who had come after her other children were well grown-in comfort; and they were all very happy together. The boys broke out, occasionally; but, on the whole, were the best in the world, and her girls were worth

he bread and milk, rose. "Is that r

hter of the house. "And you co

escort the little girl back to her playmates in the wood, and she took prompt possession of his h

e and dainty, sh

cipating, in a toy shop, the whims and pleasures of a child-an incident of paternity which his book-children had not inspired. He bought the finest doll, piano, French dishes, cooking apparatus, and p

It is not strange, therefore, that the lesser and closer of the unseen forces should send their vibrations to it occasionally; or, at all events, that the imagination should incline its ear to the most mysterious and picturesque of a

to the family sieve, and listened with fluttering interest to all he had not

e girl to do with the tragedy? What relation was she

rrupted Lady Mildre

of disintegration. Lady Mildred, gratified by th

e, but there has not been one since-did not die in childhood, but lived to be twenty-four. She was an angelic child, but little angels sometimes grow up into very naughty girls. I believe she was delicate as a child, which probably gave her that spiritual look. Perhaps she was spoiled and flattered, until her poor little soul was stifled, w

boys, but was always more with his friends than his family. Where he and Blanche Mortlake met I don't know-in the woods, probably, although it has been said that he had the run of the house. But, at all events, he was wild about her, and she pretended to be about him. Perhaps she was, for women have stooped before and since. Some women can be stormed by a fine man in any circumstances; but, although I am a woman of the world, and not easy to shock, there are some things I tolerate so hardly that it is all I can do to bring myself to beli

enough for me

ike hell. Another time Orth's imagination would have gathered immediate inspiration from this wildest region of England. The fair and peaceful counties of the south had nothing to compare in

f, to linger for vast reaches of time in that borderland which is close to earth, eventually sent back to work out their final salvation; that they work i

tes their plodding critics. As only those who dare to make mistakes succeed greatly, only those who shake free the wings of their imagin

fts. She put her arms about his neck, and covered his serene unlined face with soft kisses. This complet

for her relatives; and together they strung them upon the most wonderful Christmas-tree that the old hall of Chillingsworth had ever embraced. She had a donkey-cart, and a trained nurse, disguised as a maid, to wait upon her. Before a month had passed she was living in state at Chillingsworth and paying

thing, and, moreover, tired easily. She preferred to sit in the depths of a big chair, toasting her bare toes at the log-fire in the hall, while her friend read or talked to her. Although she was thoughtful, and, when left to herself, given to dreaming, his patient observatio

wished to see the effect of the picture on the child, he had shrunk from the bare possibility of the very developments the mental part of him craved; the other was warmed and sati

tures, and Blanche smiled appreciatively at his remarks, that were wise in criticism and interesting in matter. He never kn

ototype. "What do you think of that?" he asked. "You r

noticed that her color changed oddly; its pure w

been quite often since. You never forbade me," she added, looking at him appealingl

you?

easily, but she did not laugh nervously, as another child would have done. He had never seen her self-possession ruffled, and he had begun to doubt he ever should. She was full of human warmth and affection. She seemed made

lly, but not to his. She

ere was another pictu

, turning cold. "H

the frame, and this picture c

king from impending phenomena was a sensation of aesthe

een impelled by a sharp blow from behind. Orth narrowed his eyes and stared at what she revealed.

rhaps, in the shadows of the mouth; but more than fulfilled were the promises of her mind. Assuredly, the woman had been as brilliant and gifted as she

nche, who had transferred h

in it for yeomen and such, or even for the trivial business of breaking hearts." He put his finger under Blanche's chin, and raised her face, but he could not compel her gaze. "You are the exact image of that little girl," he said, "except that you are even purer and finer. She had no chance, none whatever. You live in the woman's age. Your opportunities will be infinite. I shall see to it that they are. What

roots of sensation-a long look of unspeakable melancholy. Her ch

red not go too far, and concluded lamely, "You mean you fear that your mother will not giv

to frighten or repel her, apologized for his abruptness, restor

his curiosity, but one evening, as they were sitting before the fire in the hall listening to the storm, and just after he had told her the story of the erl-king, he took her on

said. "I-perha

what I s

t him with a shrinking appeal whi

She stirred no response in him. Nor could he feel that the woman of Blanche's future wo

ace settled in melancholy. He asked her if she were ill, and she recalled herself at once, but confessed to feeling tired. Soon after this he noticed that she lingered longer in the comfortable depths of her chair, and seldom went ou

mined her. When she had left the

nough, but I have no X-rays in my eyes, and for all I know she may be on the verge of decay. She certainly has the look of those who die young. I have never se

apprehension slept and let him sleep. He had persuaded Mrs. Root to remain in England for a year. He sent her theatre tickets every week, and placed a horse and phaeton at her disposal. She was enjoying herself and seeing less and less of Blanche. He took the child to Bournemouth for a fortnight, and again to Scotland, both of which outings benefited as much as they plea

nd the lonely child that Mrs. Root flurriedly entered the

l as they should-she didn't tell me, as I was having such a good time she just hated to worry me-Heaven knows I've had enough worry-but now

upt the flow. He let her talk until she paused

broach a subject at once which I would rather have postpo

I haven't warned you before, but I didn't like to be the one to speak first. You want Bla

. She is a wonderful child; you have never been blind to that; she should have every opportunity, not only of money, but of association. If I

, when she could speak. "That, and missing her. I couldn't stand in her light, and I let her stay. I kno

onger. I will gladly relieve your children of your su

y all need me, if only to keep them together-three girls unmarried and out in the world, and three bo

him the ideal gentleman, although the mistress of the

. My girls get bitter, sometimes; work all the week and little fun, not caring for common men and no chance to marry gentlemen; and sometimes they break out and talk dreadful; then, when they're over it, they say they'll live for Blanche-they've said it over and over, and they mean it. Every sacrifice they've made for her-and they've made many-has done them good. It isn't that Blanche ever says a word of the preachy sort, or has anything of the Sunday-school child about her, or even tries to smooth them down when they're excited. It's just hers

r time to think it over," he said. "You can stay a few

than any of us. I believe that whichever way she decided would be right. I won't say anything

thing uncanny about the child. She is not yet seven years

she's like o

hing of oth

hers. I never was one to be a fool about my own, but Blan

do you

her lights: "I think she's an angel,

the last of her salvation," thought the author;

ing, when she was sitting on her mat on the lawn with the light fu

e delight, she burst into tears

d find his own voice. "You can stay here alway

y," she sobb

o sad once or twice?" he ask

de no

e your confidence, Blanche. You are

" she said. "But I d

ch do y

d not risk too much. After all, the physical barri

hat your mother is distressed at the idea of parting from you, and thinks it would be as sad for

es

you kn

why you kno

they will be marrying soon. That will also mean that your mother will have many little grandchildren to console her for your loss. I will be the one bereft, if you leave me. I am the only one who really needs you. I don't say I wi

flannels, and tightened her embrac

t along. And if you lived with me over there you might as well stay here, for your influence over them would be quite as rem

nless

led. "Do you believe you are goi

would no

, she sat down and began to weep hopelessly. He knew then that his fate was sealed. And when,