The Lighted Way | Page 5

about the ships."
She laughed and took his hand as he dragged a chair over to her side.
He put his arm around her and her head fell naturally back upon his
shoulder. Her eyes sought his. He was leaning forward, gazing down
between the curving line of lamp-posts, across the belt of black river
with its flecks of yellow light. But Ruth watched him only.
"Arnie," she whispered in his ear, "there are no fairy ships upon the

river to-night."
He smiled.
"Why not, little one? You have only to close your eyes."
Slowly she shook her head.
"Don't think that I am foolish, dear," she begged. "To-night I cannot
look upon the river at all. I feel that there is something new here--here
in this room. The great things are here, Arnold. I can feel life
hammering and throbbing in the air. We aren't in a garret any longer,
dear. It's a fairy palace. Listen. Can't you hear the people shout, and the
music, and the fountains playing? Can't you see the dusky walls fall
back, the marble pillars, the lights in the ceiling?"
He turned his head. He found himself, indeed, listening, found himself
almost disappointed to hear nothing but the far-off, eternal roar of the
city, and the melancholy grinding of a hurdy-gurdy below. Always she
carried him away by her intense earnestness, the bewitching softness of
her voice, even when it was galleons full of treasure that she saw, with
blood-red sails, coming up the river, full of treasure for them. To-night
her voice had more than its share of inspiration, her fancies clung to her
feverishly.
"Be careful, Arnold," she murmured. "To-night means a change. There
is something new coming. I can feel it coming in my heart."
Her face was drawn and pale. He laughed down into her eyes.
"Little lady," he reminded her, mockingly, "I am going to dine with my
cheesemonger employer."
She shook her head dreamily. She refused to be dragged down.
"There's something beating in the air," she continued. "It came into the
room with you. Don't you feel it? Can't you feel that you are going to a
tragedy? Life is going to be different, Arnold, to be different always."

He drew himself up. A flicker of passion flamed in his own deep gray
eyes.
"Different, child? Of course it's going to be different. If there weren't
something else in front, do you think one could live? Do you think one
could be content to struggle through this miserable quagmire if one
didn't believe that there was something else on the other side of the
hill?"
She sighed, and her fingers touched his.
"I forgot," she said simply. "You see, there was a time when I hadn't
you. You lifted me out of my quagmire."
"Not high enough, dear," he answered, caressingly. "Some day I'll take
you over to Berlin or Vienna, or one of those wonderful places. We'll
leave Isaac to grub along and sow red fire in Hyde Park. We'll find the
doctors. We shall teach you to walk again without that stick. No more
gloominess, please."
She pressed his hand tightly.
"Dear Arnold!" she whispered softly.
"Turn around and watch the river with me, little one," he begged. "See
the lights on the barges, how slowly they move. What is there behind
that one, I wonder?"
Her eyes followed his finger without enthusiasm.
"I can't look out of the room to-night, Arnold," she said. "The fancies
won't come. Promise me one thing."
"I promise," he agreed.
"Tell me everything--don't keep anything back."
"On my honor," he declared, smiling. "I will bring the menu of the
dinner, if there is one, and a photograph of Mrs. Cheesemonger if I can

steal it. Now I am going to help you back into your room."
"Don't bother," she begged. "Open the door and I can get there quite
easily."
He set the door open and, crossing the bare stone landing, opened the
door of another room, similar to his. They were somber apartments at
the top of the deserted house, which had once been a nobleman's
residence. The doors were still heavy, though blistered with time and
lack of varnish. There were the remains of paneling upon the wall and
frescoes upon the ceiling.
"Come and see me before you go," she pleaded. "I am all alone. Isaac
has gone to a meeting somewhere."
He promised and returned to his own apartment. With the help of a
candle which he stuck upon the mantelpiece, and a cracked mirror, he
first of all shaved, then disappeared for a few minutes behind a piece of
faded curtain and washed vigorously. Afterwards he changed his
clothes, putting on a dress suit produced from the trunk. When he had
finished, he stepped back and laughed