A Day of Fate | Page 8

open, her manner grows deliciously shy, she hesitates
and chooses her words, but is not so happy in their choice as when she

spoke without premeditation. Instead of the wonted bloom on her cheek
her color comes and goes. Oh, most exquisite phase of human power! I
control the fountain of her life; and by an act, a word, a glance even,
can cause the crimson tide to rise even to her brow, and then to ebb,
leaving her sad and pale. Joy! joy! I have won that out of which can be
created the best thing of earth, and the type of heaven--a home!"
At this supreme moment in my day-dream, an elderly Friend on the
high seat gave his hand to another white-haired man who had, for the
last hour, leaned his chin on his stout cane, and meditated under the
shadow of his broad-brimmed hat, and our silent meeting was over.
The possessor of the exquisite profile who had led me through a flight
of romance such as I had never known before, turned and looked
directly at me.
The breaking of my dream had been too sudden, and I had been caught
too high up to alight again on the solid ground of reality with ease and
grace. The night-editor blushed like a school-girl under her glance, at
which she seemed naturally surprised. She, of course, could imagine no
reason why her brief look of curiosity should cause me confusion and
bring a guilty crimson to my face. I took it as a good omen, however,
and said mentally, as I passed out with the others,
"My thoughts have already established a subtle influence over her,
drawing her eyes and the first delicate tendril of interest toward one to
whom she may cling for life."

CHAPTER III
THE SHINING TIDE
As I was strenuously seeking to gain possession of my wits, so that I
could avail myself of any opportunity that offered, or could be made by
adroit, prompt action, the stalwart and elderly Friend, who had seemed
thus far one of the ministers of my impending fate, again took my hand
and said:

"I hope thee'll forgive me for asking thee to conform to our ways, and
not think any rudeness was meant."
"The grasp of your hand at once taught me that you were friendly as
well as a Friend," I replied.
"We should not belie our name, truly. I fear thee did not enjoy our
silent meeting?"
"You are mistaken, sir. It was just the meeting which, as a weary man, I
needed."
"I hope thee wasn't asleep?" he said, with a humorous twinkle in his
honest blue eyes.
"You are quite mistaken again," I answered, smiling; but I should have
been in a dilemma had he asked me if I had been dreaming.
"Thee's a stranger in these parts," he continued, in a manner that
suggested kindness rather than curiosity.
"Possibly this is the day of my fate," I thought, "and this man the father
of my ideal woman." And I decided to angle with my utmost skill for
an invitation.
"You are correct," I replied, "and I much regret that I have wandered so
far from my hotel, for I am not strong,"
"Well, thee may have good cause to be sorry, though we do our best;
but if thee's willing to put up with homely fare and homely people,
thee's welcome to come home with us."
Seeing eager acquiescence in my face, he continued, without giving me
time to reply, "Here, mother, thee always provides enough for one more.
We'll have a stranger within our gates to-day, perhaps."
To my joy the Friend lady, with a face like a benediction, turned at his
words. At the same moment a large, three-seated rockaway, with a
ruddy boy as driver, drew up against the adjacent horse-block, while

the fair unknown, who had stood among a bevy of young Quakeresses
like a tall lily among lesser flowers, came toward us holding a little girl
by the hand. The family group was drawing together according to my
prophetic fancy, and my heart beat thick and fast. Truly this was the
day of fate!
"Homely people" indeed! and what cared I for "fare" in the very hour
of destiny!
"Mother," he said, with his humorous twinkle, "I'm bent on making
amends to this stranger who seemed to have a drawing toward thy side
of the house. Thee didn't give him any spiritual fare in the meeting-
house, but I think thee'll do better by him at the farmhouse. When I tell
thee that he is not well and a long way from home, thee'll give him a
welcome."
"Indeed," said the old lady, taking my hand in her soft, plump palm,
while her face fairly beamed with