He looked about, dazed and emotionless. He felt her in every touch of the lonely place; her books, her little pictures, herself! Some women are like that: they leave themselves in the presence of them they love—forever!
"Kill her ideal!" The words rang in the empty corners of his heart and mind. "Somewhere he is following his ideal, and living true and sure!"
Unconsciously, as men do in an hour of stress, Travers turned to action. Presently he found himself setting the tiny room in order as one does after a dear one has departed, or a spirit taken its flight. And while he moved about his reason was slowly readjusting itself, and he felt poignantly his impotency, his inability to use even his love for dominance. Being a just and honest man, he could not deny what Priscilla had said; truth rang in every sentence, chimed in with the minor notes of his life. No thought of following or staying her entered his mind; she had set about her business, woman's business, and, to the man's excited fancy, he seemed to see her pressing forward to the doing of that to which her soul called her. Then it was her beautiful shining hair he remembered, and his passion cried out for its own.
"This comes," he fiercely cried, setting his teeth hard, "of our leaving them behind—our women! Through the ages their place has been beside us as we fought every foe of the race. We set them aside in our folly, and now"—he bowed his head upon his folded arms—"and now they are waking up and demanding only what is theirs!"
A specimen of the new man was Travers, but inheritance, and Ledyard's teaching, had left their seal upon him. Bowed in Priscilla's little room he tried to see his way, but for a time he reasoned with Ledyard's words ringing in his ears. Had he not gone over this with his friend and partner many a time?
"Yes, I know the cursed evil, know its power and danger! Yes, it threatens—the race, but it has its roots in the ages; it must be tackled cautiously. If we take the stand you suggest"—for Travers had put forth his violent, new opposition—"what will happen? The quacks and money-making sharks will get the upper hand. Do you think men would come to us if exposure faced them? It's the devil, my boy; but of the two evils this, God knows, is the least. We must do what we can; work for a scientific and moral redemption, but never play the game like fools."—"But the women," Travers had put in feverishly, "the women!"—"Spare me, boy! The women have clutched the heart of me—always. The women and the—the babies. I've used them to flay many men into remorse and better living. I am thinking of them, as God hears me, when I take the course I do!"
And so Travers suffered and groaned in the small, deserted room.
Above and beyond Ledyard's reasoning stood two desolate figures. They seemed to represent all women: his Priscilla and Margaret Moffatt! One, the crude child of nature with her gleam undimmed, leading her forth unhampered, though love and suffering blocked her way; the other, the daughter of ages of refinement and culture, who had heard the call of the future in her big woman-heart and could leave all else for the sake of the crown she might never wear, but which, with God's help, she would never defile.
On, on, they two went before Travers's aching eyes. The way before them was shining, or was it the light of Priscilla's hair? They were leaving him, all men, in the dark! It was to seek the light, or——And then Travers got up and left the room with bowed head, like one turning his back upon the dead.
He went to Ledyard at once, and found that cheerful gentleman awaiting him.