He reached the station thus dreaming,and found,as he had been told when the warden bade him good-by,that a train was to be at hand directly bound to the city.A few moments later he was on that train.Well back in the shadow,and out of sight of the other passengers,he gave himself up to the enjoyment of the comfortable cushion.He would willingly have looked from the win-dow,--green fields were new and wonderful;drifting clouds a marvel;men,houses,horses,farms,all a revelation,--but those haunting visions were at him again,and would not leave brain or eye free for other things.
But the next scene had warmer tints.It was the interior of a rich room,--crimson and amber fabrics,flowers,the gleam of a statue beyond the drapings;the sound of a tender piano unflinging a familiar melody,and a woman.She was just a part of all the luxury.
He himself,very timid and conscious of his awkwardness,sat near,trying barrenly to get some of his thoughts out of his brain on to his tongue.
"Strange,isn't it,"the woman broke in on her own music,"that we have seen each other so very often and never spoken?I've often thought introductions were ridiculous.
Fancy seeing a person year in and year out,and really knowing all about him,and being perfectly acquainted with his name --at least his or her name,you know --and then never speaking!Some one comes along,and says,'Miss Le Baron,this is Mr.
Culross,'just as if one didn't know that all the time!And there you are!You cease to be dumb folks,and fall to talking,and say a lot of things neither of you care about,and after five or six weeks of time and sun-dry meetings,get down to honestly saying what you mean.I'm so glad we've got through with that first stage,and can say what we think and tell what we really like."Then the playing began again,--a harp-like intermingling of soft sounds.Zoe Le Baron's hands were very girlish.Every-thing about her was unformed.Even her mind was so.But all promised a full com-pletion.The voice,the shoulders,the smile,the words,the lips,the arms,the whole mind and body,were rounding to maturity.
"Why do you never come to church in the morning?"asks Miss Le Baron,wheel-ing around on her piano-stool suddenly.
"You are only there at night,with your mother.""I go only on her account,"replies David,truthfully."In the morning I am so tired with the week's work that I rest at home.
I ought to go,I know."
"Yes,you ought,"returns the young woman,gravely."It doesn't really rest one to lie in bed like that.I've tried it at boarding-school.It was no good whatever.""Should you advise me,"asks David,in a confiding tone,"to arise early on Sunday?"The girl blushes a little."By all means!"she cries,her eyes twinkling,"and --and come to church.Our morning sermons are really very much better than those in the evening."And she plays a waltz,and what with the music and the warmth of the room and the perfume of the roses,a something nameless and mystical steals over the poor clerk,and swathes him about like the fumes of opium.They are alone.The silence is made deeper by that rhythmic unswelling of sound.As the painter flushes the bare wall into splendor,these emotions illumi-nated his soul,and gave to it that high cour-age that comes when men or women suddenly realize that each life has its significance,--their own lives no less than the lives of others.
The man sitting there in the shadow in that noisy train saw in his vision how the lad arose and moved,like one under a spell,toward the piano.He felt again the en-chantment of the music-ridden quiet,of the perfume,and the presence of the woman.
"Knowing you and speaking with you have not made much difference with me,"he whispers,drunk on the new wine of passion,"for I have loved you since I saw you first.And though it is so sweet to hear you speak,your voice is no more beautiful than I thought it would be.I have loved you a long time,and I want to know --"The broken man in the shadow remem-bered how the lad stopped,astonished at his boldness and his fluency,overcome suddenly at the thought of what he was saying.The music stopped with a discord.The girl arose,trembling and scarlet.
"I would not have believed it of you,"
she cries,"to take advantage of me like this,when I am alone --and --everything.
You know very well that nothing but trouble could come to either of us from your telling me a thing like that."He puts his hands up to his face to keep off her anger.He is trembling with confusion.
Then she broke in penitently,trying to pull his hands away from his hot face:
"Never mind!I know you didn't mean anything.Be good,do,and don't spoil the lovely times we have together.You know very well father and mother wouldn't let us see each other at all if they --if they thought you were saying anything such as you said just now.""Oh,but I can't help it!"cries the boy,despairingly."I have never loved anybody at all till now.I don't mean not another girl,you know.But you are the first being I ever cared for.I sometimes think mother cares for me because I pay the rent.And the office --you can't imagine what that is like.The men in it are moving corpses.
They're proud to be that way,and so was Itill I knew you and learned what life was like.
All the happy moments I have had have been here.Now,if you tell me that we are not to care for each other --"There was some one coming down the hall.The curtain lifted.A middle-aged man stood there looking at him.
