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handed　to　him　by　this　smiling；　well…to…do　woman；　he　was　as　shocked

at　first　as　if　he　had　suddenly　found　her　reading　his　private

letters。　　This　was　followed　by　a　sudden　sense　of　shame　that　he　had

ever　thus　publicly　bared　his　feelings；　and　then　by　the　illogical

but　irresistible　conviction　that　it　was　false　and　stupid。　　The　few

phrases　she　had　pointed　out　appeared　as　cheap　and　hollow　rhetoric

amid　the　surroundings　of　their　social　tete…a…tete　over　the

luncheon…table。　　There　was　small　danger　that　this　heady　wine　of

woman's　praise　would　make　him　betray　himself；　there　was　no　sign　of

gratified　authorship　in　his　voice　as　he　quietly　laid　down　the　paper

and　said　dryly：　〃I　am　afraid　I　can't　help　you。　　You　know　it　may　be

purely　fanciful。〃



〃I　don't　think　so；〃　said　Mrs。　Ashwood　thoughtfully。　　〃At　the　same

time　it　doesn't　strike　me　as　a　very　abiding　grief　for　that　very

reason。　　It's　TOO　sympathetic。　　It　strikes　me　that　it　might　be　the

first　grief　of　some　one　too　young　to　be　inured　to　sorrow　or

experienced　enough　to　accept　it　as　the　common　lot。　　But　like　all

youthful　impressions　it　is　very　sincere　and　true　while　it　lasts。　　I

don't　know　whether　one　gets　anything　more　real　when　one　gets

older。〃



With　an　insincerity　he　could　not　account　for；　he　now　felt　inclined

to　defend　his　previous　sentiment；　although　all　the　while　conscious

of　a　certain　charm　in　his　companion's　graceful　skepticism。　　He　had

in　his　truthfulness　and　independence　hitherto　always　been　quite

free　from　that　feeble　admiration　of　cynicism　which　attacks　the

intellectually　weak　and　immature；　and　his　present　predilection　may

have　been　due　more　to　her　charming　personality。　　She　was　not　at　all

like　his　sisters；　she　had　none　of　Clementina's　cold　abstraction；

and　none　of　Euphemia's　sharp　and　demonstrative　effusiveness。　　And

in　his　secret　consciousness　of　her　flattering　foreknowledge　of　him；

with　her　assurance　that　before　they　had　ever　met　he　had　unwittingly

influenced　her；　he　began　to　feel　more　at　his　ease。　　His　fair

companion　also；　in　the　equally　secret　knowledge　she　had　acquired　of

his　history；　felt　as　secure　as　if　she　had　been　formally　introduced。

Nobody　could　find　fault　with　her　for　showing　civility　to　the

ostensible　son　of　her　host；　it　was　not　necessary　that　she　should　be

aware　of　their　family　differences。　　There　was　a　charm　too　in　their

enforced　isolation；　in　what　was　the　exceptional　solitude　of　the

little　hotel　that　day；　and　the　seclusion　of　their　table　by　the

window　of　the　dining…room；　which　gave　a　charming　domesticity　to

their　repast。　　From　time　to　time　they　glanced　down　the　lonely

canyon；　losing　itself　in　the　afternoon　shadow。　　Nevertheless　Mrs。

Ashwood's　preoccupation　with　Nature　did　not　preclude　a　human

curiosity　to　hear　something　more　of　John　Milton's　quarrel　with　his

father。　　There　was　certainly　nothing　of　the　prodigal　son　about　him；

there　was　no　precocious　evil　knowledge　in　his　frank　eyes；　no　record

of　excesses　in　his　healthy；　fresh　complexion；　no　unwholesome　or

disturbed　tastes　in　what　she　had　seen　of　his　rural　preferences　and

understanding　of　natural　beauty。　　To　have　attempted　any　direct

questioning　that　would　have　revealed　his　name　and　identity　would

have　obliged　her　to　speak　of　herself　as　his　father's　guest。　　She

began　indirectly；　he　had　said　he　had　been　a　reporter；　and　he　was

still　a　chronicler　of　this　strange　life。　　He　had　of　course　heard　of

many　cases　of　family　feuds　and　estrangements？　　Her　brother　had　told

her　of　some　dreadful　vendettas　he　had　known　in　the　Southwest；　and

how　whole　families　had　been　divided。　　Since　she　had　been　here　she

had　heard　of　odd　cases　of　brothers　meeting　accidentally　after　long

and　unaccounted　separations；　of　husbands　suddenly　confronted　with

wives　they　had　deserted；　of　fathers　encountering　discarded　sons！



John　Milton's　face　betrayed　no　uneasy　consciousness。　　If　anything

it　was　beginning　to　glow　with　a　boyish　admiration　of　the　grace　and

intelligence　of　the　fair　speaker；　that　was　perhaps　heightened　by　an

assumption　of　half　coquettish　discomfiture。



〃You　are　laughing　at　me！〃　she　said　finally。　　〃But　inhuman　and

selfish　as　these　stories　may　seem；　and　sometimes　are；　I　believe

that　these　curious　estrangements　and　separations　often　come　from

some　fatal　weakness　of　temperament　that　might　be　strengthened；　or

some　trivial　misunderstanding　that　could　be　explained。　　It　is

separation　that　makes　them　seem　irrevocable　only　because　they　are

inexplicable；　and　a　vague　memory　always　seems　more　terrible　than　a

definite　one。　　Facts　may　be　forgiven　and　forgotten；　but　mysteries

haunt　one　always。　　I　believe　there　are　weak；　sensitive　people　who

dread　to　put　their　wrongs　into　shape；　those　are　the　kind　who　sulk；

and　when　you　add　separation　to　sulking；　reconciliation　becomes

impossible。　　I　knew　a　very　singular　case　of　that　kind　once。　　If　you

like；　I'll　tell　it　to　you。　　May　be　you　will　be　able；　some　day；　to

weave　it　into　one　of　your　writings。　　And　it's　quite　true。〃



It　is　hardly　necessary　to　say　that　John　Milton　had　not　been　touched

by　any　personal　significance　in　his　companion's　speech；　whatever

she　may　have　intended；　and　it　is　equally　true　that　whether　she　had

presently　forgotten　her　purpose；　or　had　become　suddenly　interested

in　her　own　conversation；　her　face　grew　more　animated；　her　manner

more　confidential；　and　something　of　the　youthful　enthusiasm　she　had

shown　in　the　mountain　seemed　to　come　back　to　her。



〃I　might　say　it　happened　anywhere　and　call　the　people　M。　or　N。；

but　it　really　did　occur　in　my　own　family；　and　although　I　was　much

younger　at　the　time　it　impressed　me　very　strongly。　　My　cousin；　who

had　been　my　playmate；　was　an　orphan；　and　had　been　intrusted　to　the

care　of　my　father；　who　was　his　guardian。　　He　was　always　a　clever

boy；　but　singularly　sensitive　and　quick　to　take　offense。　　Perhaps

it　was　because　the　little　property　his　father　had　left　made　him

partly　dependent　on　my　father；　and　that　I　was　rich；　but　he　seemed

to　feel　the　disparity　in　our　positions。　　I　was　too　young　to

understand　it；　I　think　it　existed　only　in　his　imagination；　for　I

believe　we　were　treated　alike。　　But　I　remember　that　he　was　full　of

vague　threats　of　running　away　and　going　to　sea；　and　that　it　was

part　of　his　weak　temperament　to　terrify　me　with　his　extravagant

confidences。　　I　was　always　frightened　when；　after　one　of　those

scenes；　he　would　pack　his　valise　or　perhaps　only　tie　up　a　few

things　in　a　handkerchief；　as　in　the　advertisement　pictures　of　the

runaway　slaves；　and　declare　that　we　would　never　lay　eyes　upon　him

again。　　At　first　I　never　saw　the　ridiculousness　of　all　this；for　I

ought　to　have　told　you　that　he　was　a　rather　delicate　and　timid　boy；

and　quite　unfitted　for　a　rough　life　or　any　exposure；but　others

did；　and　one　day　I　laughed　at　him　and　told　him　he　was　afraid。　　I

shall　never　forget　the　expression　of　his　face　and　never　forgive

myself　for　it。　　He　went　away；but　he　returned　the　next　day！　　He

threatened　once　to　commit　suicide；　left　his　clothes　on　the　bank　of

the　river；　and　came　home　in　another　suit　of　clothes　he　had　taken

with　him。　　When　I　was　sent　abroad　to　school　I　lost　sight　of　him；

when　I　returned　he　was　at　college；　apparently　unchanged。　　When　he

came　home　for　vacation；　far　from　having　been　subdued　by　contact

with　strangers；　it　seemed　that　his　unhappy　sensitiveness　had　been

only　intensified　by　the　ridicule　of　his　fellows。　　He　had　even

acquired　a　most　ridiculous　theory　about　the　degrading　effects　of

civilization；　and　wanted　to　go　back　to　a　state　of　barbarism。　　He

said　the　wilderness　was　the　only　true　home　of　man。　　My　father；

instead　of　bearing　with　what　I　believe　was　his　infirmity；　dryly

offered　him　the　means　to　try　his　experiment。　　He　started　for　some

place　in　Texas；　saying　we　would　never　hear　from　him　again。　　A　month

after　he　wrote　for　more　money。　　My　father　replied　rather　impatiently；

I　suppose；I　never　knew　exactly　what　he　wrote。　　That　was　some　years

ago。　　He　had　told　the　truth　at　last；　for　we　never　heard　from　him

again。〃



It　is　to　be　feared　that　John　Milton　was　following　the　animated　lips

and　eyes　of　the　fair　speaker　rather　than　her　story。　　Perhaps　that

was　the　reason　why　he　said；　〃May　he　not　have　been　a　disappointed

man？〃



〃I　don't　understand；〃　she　said　simply。



〃Perhaps；〃　said　John　Milton　with　a　boyish　blush；　〃you　may　have

unconsciously　raised　hopes　in　his　heartand〃



〃I　should　hardly　attempt　to　interest　a　chronicler　of　adventure　like

you　in　such　a　very　commonplace；　every…day　style　of　romance；〃　she

said；　with　a　little　impatience；　〃even　if　my　vanity　compelled　me　to

make　such　confidences　to　a　stranger。　　No；it　was　nothing　quite　as

vulgar　as　that。　　And；〃　she　added　quickly；　with　a　playfully　amused

smile　as　she　saw　the　young　fellow's　evident　distress；　〃I　should

have　probably　heard　from　him　again。　　Those　stories　always　end　in

that　way。〃



〃And　you　think？〃said　John　Milton。



〃I　think；〃　said　Mrs。　Ashwood　slowly；　〃that　he　actually　did　commit

suicideor　effaced　himself　in　some　way；　just　as　firmly　as　I

believe　he　might　have　been　saved　by　judicious　treatment。　　Otherwise

we　should　have　heard　from　him。　　You'll　say　that's　only　a　woman's

reasoningbut　I　think　our　perceptions　are　often　instinctive；　and　I

knew　his　character。〃



Still　following　the　play　of　her　delicate　features　into　a　romance　of

his　own　weaving；　the　imaginative　young　reporter　who　had　seen　so

much　from　the　heights　of　Russian　Hill　said　earnestly；　〃Then　I　have

your　permission　to　use　this　material　at　any　future　time？〃



〃Yes；〃　said　the　lady　smilingly。



〃And　you　will　not　mind　if　I　should　take　some　liberties　with　the

text？〃



〃I　must　of　course　leave　something　to　your　artistic　taste。　　But　you

will　let　me　see　it？〃



There　were　voices　outside　now；　breaking　the　silence　of　the　veranda。

They　had　been　so　preoccupied　as　not　to　notice　the　arrival　of　a

horseman。　　Steps　came　along　the　passage；　the　landlord　returned。

Mrs。　Ashwood　turned　quickly　towards　him。