The Man Between | Page 6

I think too there is a measured music, a
central time and tune, in every life. Quick, melodious natures like
Ethel's never wander far from their keynote, and are therefore joyously
set; while slow, irresolute people deviate far, and only come back after
painful dissonances and frequent changes."

"You are generally right, Ruth, even where I cannot follow you. I hope
Ethel will be home for dinner. I like my Sunday dinner with both of
you, and I may bring my mother back with me."
Then he said "Good morning" with an intentional cheerfulness, and
Ruth was left alone with her book. She gave a moment's thought to the
value of good example, and then with a sigh of content let her eyes rest
on the words Ethel's presence had for awhile silenced:
"I am filled with a sense of sweetness and wonder that such, little
things can make a mortal so exceedingly rich. But I confess that the
chiefest of all my delights is still the religious." (Theodore Parker.) She
read the words again, then closed her eyes and let the honey of some
sacred memory satisfy her soul. And in those few minutes of reverie,
Ruth Bayard revealed the keynote of her being. Wanderings from it,
caused by the exigencies and duties of life, frequently occurred; but she
quickly returned to its central and controlling harmony; and her
serenity and poise were therefore as natural as was her niece's
joyousness and hope. Nor was her religious character the result of
temperament, or of a secluded life. Ruth Bayard was a woman of
thought and culture, and wise in the ways of the world, but not worldly.
Her personality was very attractive, she had a good form, an agreeable
face, speaking gray eyes, and brown hair, soft and naturally wavy. She
was a distant cousin of Ethel's mother, but had been brought up with
her in the same household, and always regarded her as a sister, and
Ethel never remembered that she was only her aunt by adoption. Ten
years older than her niece, she had mothered her with a wise and loving
patience, and her thoughts never wandered long or far from the girl.
Consequently, she soon found herself wondering what reason there
could be for Dora Denning's urgency.
In the meantime Ethel had reached her friend's residence a new
building of unusual size and very ornate architecture. Liveried footmen
and waiting women bowed her with mute attention to Miss Denning's
suite, an absolutely private arrangement of five rooms, marvelously
furnished for the young lady's comfort and delight. The windows of her
parlor overlooked the park, and she was standing at one of them as

Ethel entered the room. In a passion of welcoming gladness she turned
to her, exclaiming: "I have been watching for you hours and hours,
Ethel. I have the most wonderful thing to tell you. I am so happy! So
happy! No one was ever as happy as I am."
Then Ethel took both her hands, and, as they stood together, she looked
intently at her friend. Some new charm transfigured her face; for her
dark, gazelle eyes were not more lambent than her cheeks, though in a
different way; while her black hair in its picturesquely arranged
disorder seemed instinct with life, and hardly to be restrained. She was
constantly pushing it back, caressing or arranging it; and her white,
slender fingers, sparkling with jewels, moved among the crimped and
wavy locks, as if there was an intelligent sympathy between them.
"How beautiful you are to-day, Dora! Who has worked wonders on
you?"
"Basil Stanhope. He loves me! He loves me! He told me so last
night--in the sweetest words that were ever uttered. I shall never forget
one of them--never, as long as I live! Let us sit down. I want to tell you
everything."
"I am astonished, Dora!"
"So was mother, and father, and Bryce. No one suspected our affection.
Mother used to grumble about my going `at all hours' to St. Jude's
church; but that was because St. Jude's is so very High Church, and
mother is a Methodist Episcopal. It was the morning and evening
prayers she objected to. No one had any suspicion of the clergyman. Oh,
Ethel, he is so handsome! So good! So clever! I think every woman in
the church is in love with him."
"Then if he is a good man, he must be very unhappy."
"Of course he is quite ignorant of their admiration, and therefore quite
innocent. I am the only woman he loves, and he never even remembers
me when he is in the sacred office. If you could see him come out of
the vestry in his white surplice, with his rapt face and prophetic eyes.

So mystical! So beautiful! You would not