“Yes. I like it because it portrays so truthfully and vividly the heartaches that so often lie hidden beneath the smiling exterior. It lifts the veil and shows the hidden woe. Oh, why must all nature be thus perverted? Why must all the grandest passions thus recoil upon themselves? The story makes me shudder as if I stood upon the brink of a chasm. It chills my very blood, but it has a weird, strange fascination for me. I always return to it and it has done much to stimulate my dormant brain to action. It has taught me a lesson in thought.”
The re-entrance of Imelda and Lawrence at this juncture brought the conversation to an end. A hasty glance from Norman showed him that an understanding had been effected. A quick look passed between the two men and a feeling of gladness entered the heart of Norman, for the sake of all concerned. For a short time the conversation became general, then Cora was asked to once more sing for them. After a little hesitation she did so, and the strains of sweet “Annie Laurie” filled the room. No noisy applause greeted her when she had finished, but every head was bowed and some of the eyes were moist. The last lines had been sung with even more pathos than the first, but the fluttering, quavering sound indicated something more than pathos. Cora was fatiguing herself. In an instant Imelda recognized the fact and hastily arising said:
“Not another line. We have been forgetting that you have been ill, and are taxing you beyond your strength. Come, you must retire at once and I will attend you.” But Cora shook the brown curly head.
“No! no! I shall not accept your service this evening. You will remain right here, while our friend here, I know, will assist me for this once. Am I right, Alice?”
“Most certainly. Right you are, and as we are two to one, Queen Imelda is overruled. So just consider yourself sent about your business while I shall tuck the covers about this little girl’s form.” Thus jesting and laughing Alice in triumph bore the tired Cora off to her own domain. At the same time Lawrence also discreetly withdrew. “To indulge in the solace of man,” was what he said, to seek the companionship of a cigar; thus leaving the lovers alone. So many weeks had passed since an evening of undisturbed quiet had been theirs that now they had so much to say that the hours sped far into the night ere they finally separated. After Cora and Alice had bidden them good night and Lawrence had withdrawn, Imelda said:
“Look,” struggling from his embrace, “what I have got! a long sweet letter from my Margaret, with one enclosed from Wilbur. She says she is getting along much better and faster with her studies than she had at first expected, and she now hopes that in the fall she may begin with her chosen work. Listen to what she says:”
“My Own Imelda!—To use the expression of gushing school girls, I am just dying to see you. Save my mother and Wilbur, I have no one to whom I can talk just what is in my mind. I have many radical friends here, in dear old Chicago, but none quite far enough advanced to admit them into the innermost recesses of my heart. It is so hard, so very hard, to replace a tried, a trusted friend. In all probability this very circumstance is not without its advantage as thereby I am better able to apply myself to my studies. During the evening hours I have an assistant and it would be natural to suppose that during those hours my studies would progress the most. But, strange to say, we continue to rehearse the same first act—somehow we cannot get beyond it—with some variation, it is true, but in reality the same. I expect after a while we shall surely be perfect. But of what the second contains I am at present not able to give you an idea. It is still a sealed book. To confess the truth however, I care but little, so long as the first act gives such exquisite pleasure, I am perfectly willing to let the second take care of itself. All the same my arms are in the best of trim to give you a good hugging—a regular bear-hug. Maybe I can impress you. If so, let me know.
“Do you know I almost envy you your present surroundings? You have so many to love now. No, I don’t, either. That is not just the right thing to say. Rather, I am glad, O so glad, that you have found that wayward sisters of yours, that was. See, darling, how our doctrines have been verified in this case: that we are just what circumstances have made us. Who would have thought that the wilful Cora could be transformed into so noble a woman! But then you know love works wonders, and undoubtedly Owen Hunter must be one of nature’s noblemen, else the love upon which he fed the starved heart which gave itself into his keeping could never have produced such wonderful results.
“Now, my Imelda, it will be yours to develop the germ which this man has implanted, and when they again meet—which I feel assured they will do—he will not find occasion to regret the enforced separation. And now, kiss for me that precious sister pair who so truly belong to us. When your letter came, telling us all about them, describing their persons and characters so minutely that we imagined that they were bodily transplanted into our very midst, Wilbur could not restrain himself. His eyes filled with tears—tears that with overflowing heart I kissed away.
“O my precious friend, will the time ever come when we shall realize some of our dreams, or will fear, like a dark pall, always keep our heaven, our paradise, enshrouded in darkness and gloom? When these thoughts come to me I am sad. But you know I do not approve of that. I shake it off; and indeed I have not much chance or time to indulge in gloomy thoughts, as hard work stands by and keeps my mind busy.