Atlantic Monthly, Volume 20, No. 118, August, 1887 | Page 6

what he should have to say for himself when Clement Lindsay, in a
frenzy of rage and jealousy, stood before him, probably armed with as
many deadly instruments as a lawyer mentions by name in an
indictment for murder.
Cyprian Eveleth looked very differently on the new manifestations
Myrtle was making of her tastes and inclinations. He had always felt
dazzled, as well as attracted, by her; but now there was something in
her expression and manner which made him feel still more strongly that
they were intended for different spheres of life. He could not but own
that she was born for a brilliant destiny,--that no ball-room would
throw a light from its chandeliers too strong for her,--that no circle
would be too brilliant for her to illuminate by her presence. Love does
not thrive without hope, and Cyprian was beginning to see that it was
idle in him to think of folding these wide wings of Myrtle's so that they
would be shut up in any cage he could ever offer her. He began to
doubt whether, after all, he might not find a meeker and humbler nature
better adapted to his own. And so it happened that one evening after the
three girls, Olive, Myrtle, and Bathsheba, had been together at the
Parsonage, and Cyprian, availing himself of a brother's privilege, had
joined them, he found he had been talking most of the evening with the
gentle girl whose voice had grown so soft and sweet, during her long
ministry in the sick-chamber, that it seemed to him more like music
than speech. It would not be fair to say that Myrtle was piqued to see
that Cyprian was devoting himself to Bathsheba. Her ambition was

already reaching beyond her little village circle, and she had an inward
sense that Cyprian found a form of sympathy in the minister's
simple-minded daughter which he could not ask from a young woman
of her own aspirations.
Such was the state of affairs when Master Byles Gridley was one
morning surprised by an early call from Myrtle. He had a volume of
Walton's Polyglot open before him, and was reading Job in the original,
when she entered.
"Why, bless me, is that my young friend Miss Myrtle Hazard?" he
exclaimed. "I might call you Keren-Happuch, which is Hebrew for
Child of Beauty, and not be very far out of the way,--Job's youngest
daughter, my dear. And what brings my young friend out in such good
season this morning? Nothing going wrong up at our ancient mansion,
The Poplars, I trust?"
"I want to talk with you, dear Master Gridley," she answered. She
looked as if she did not know just how to begin.
"Anything that interests you, Myrtle, interests me. I think you have
some project in that young head of yours, my child. Let us have it, in
all its dimensions, length, breadth, and thickness. I think I can guess,
Myrtle, that we have a little plan of some kind or other. We don't visit
Papa Job quite so early as this without some special cause,--do we,
Miss Keren-Happuch?"
"I want to go to the city--to school," Myrtle said, with the directness
which belonged to her nature.
"That is precisely what I want you to do myself, Miss Myrtle Hazard. I
don't like to lose you from the village, but I think we must spare you for
a while."
"You're the best and dearest man that ever lived. What could have
made you think of such a thing for me, Mr. Gridley?"
"Because you are ignorant, my child,--partly. I want to see you fitted to

take a look at the world without feeling like a little country miss. Has
your Aunt Silence promised to bear your expenses while you are in the
city? It will cost a good deal of money."
"I have not said a word to her about it, I am sure I don't know what she
would say. But I have some money, Mr. Gridley."
She showed him a purse with gold, telling him how she came by it.
"There is some silver besides. Will it be enough?"
"No, no, my child, we must not meddle with that. Your aunt will let me
put it in the bank for you, I think, where it will be safe. But that shall
not make any difference. I have got a little money lying idle, which you
may just as well have the use of as not. You can pay it back perhaps
some time or other; if you did not, it would not make much difference.
I am pretty much alone in the world, and except a book now and
then--Aut liberos aut libros, as our valiant heretic has it,--you ought to
know a little Latin, Myrtle, but never mind--I