The Pagans

The Pagans

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Title: The Pagans
Author: Arlo Bates
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THE PAGANS
By
Arlo Bates

The web of our life is a mingled yarn, good and ill together. _All's Well
That Ends Well_; iv--3

DEDICATION.
To those who would be Pagans, did any such organization exist, I take
pleasure in offering this attempt to picture a phase of life which they
know.

She answered, "cast thy rosary on the ground; bind on thy shoulder the
thread of paganism; throw stones at the glass of piety; and quaff from a
full goblet." _Persian Religious Hymn._

CONTENTS.
I. SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE II. THE HEAVY MIDDLE OF
THE NIGHT III. THE SHOT OF ACCIDENT IV. AFTER SUCH A
PAGAN CUT V. THE BITTER PAST VI. A BOND OF AIR VII. IN
WAY OF TASTE VIII. THE INLY TOUCH OF LOVE IX.
VOLUBLE AND SHARP DISCOURSE X. O, WICKED WIT AND
GIFT XI. WHOM THE FATES HAVE MARKED XII. WHAT TIME
SHE CHANTED XIII. THE ASSAY OF ART XIV. THIS IS NOT A
BOON XV. 'TWAS WONDROUS PITIFUL XVI. CRUEL PROOF
OF THIS MAN'S STRENGTH XVII. THIS "WOULD" CHANGES
XVIII. BEDECKING ORNAMENTS OF PRAISE XIX. NOW HE IS

FOR THE NUMBERS XX. THE WORLD IS STILL DECEIVED XXI.
HIS PURE HEART'S TRUTH XXII. UPON A CHURCH-BENCH
XXIII. HEART-SICK WITH THOUGHT, XXIV. IN PLACE AND IN
ACCOUNT NOTHING, XXV. THIS DEED UNSHAPES ME, XXVI.
THERE BEGINS CONFUSION, XXVII. WEIGHING DELIGHT
AND DOLE, XXVIII. LIKE COVERED FIRE, XXIX. A
NECESSARY EVIL, XXX. HOW CHANCES MOCK, XXXI. HE
SPEAKS THE MERE CONTRARY, XXXII. A SYMPATHY OF
WOE, XXXIII. A MINT OF PHRASES IN HIS BRAIN, XXXIV.
HEART-BURNING HEAT OF DUTY, XXXV. PARTED OUR
FELLOWSHIP, XXXVI. AS FALSE AS STAIRS OF SAND,
XXXVII. FAREWELL AT ONCE, FOR ONCE, FOR ALL AND
EVER.

PAGANS
I.
SOME SPEECH OF MARRIAGE. Measure for Measure, v--i.
A fine, drizzling rain was striking against the windows of a cosy third
floor sitting-room, obscuring what in pleasant weather was a fine
distant view of the Charles river. The apartment was evidently that of a
woman, as numerous details of arrangement and articles of feminine
use suggested; and quite as evidently it was the home of a person of
taste and refinement, and of one, too, who had traveled.
Arthur Fenton, a slender young artist, with elegant figure and deep set
eyes, was lounging in an easy chair in an attitude well calculated to
show to advantage his graceful outlines. For occupation he was turning
over a portfolio of sketches, whose authorship was indicated by the
attitude of the lady seated near by.
She was a woman of commanding presence, with full lips, whose
expression was contradicted by the almost haughty carriage of her fine
head and the keen glance of her eye, which indicated too much
character for the mere pleasure-seeker. Her hair was of a rich chestnut,
and she wore a dress of steel gray cashmere, relieved at the throat by a
knot of pale orange, which harmonized admirably with her clear
complexion. She watched her companion as if secretly anxious for his
good opinion of her drawings, yet too proud to betray any feeling in the
matter. He, for his part, turned them over with seeming listlessness,

breaking out now and then with some abrupt remark.
"Yes," he said suddenly, after a ten minutes' silence, "I'm going to be
married at once. It will be 'a marriage in the bush,' as the Suabians call
an impecunious match, since neither of us has any money; and I, at
least, haven't so