Victor Ollnee's Discipline Part 43

She urged him to unbosom himself. "You have a conviction? What is it?"

"His theory is that they are only mental images transferred by some unknown mental power to the plates."

"What about the figure of your grandsire?"

"His theory is that the figure was really the etheric self of my mother--shaped to the form like my grandsire by her own mind."

She stared at him. "And you accept that?"

"I don't know what else to believe. Yes, I accept that. I don't believe the dead have any right to talk and fool with the lives of the living the way I've been fooled with and side-tracked." His voice was full of fervor now. "I'm going to live my own life hereafter irrespective of the dead--responsible only to the living. I will not be disciplined by ghosts."

The girl laid the photographs down softly and looked at him with frank admiration. "You're a very extraordinary young man," she said, sagely.

"No, I'm not!" he protested. "I'm just a good average. A week ago my hottest ambition was to carry the Winona ball team to victory. If I had the money and the courage I'd go back there to-morrow and finish my course."

"What do you mean by courage?"

"Well, you know what I'd be loaded up with. To go back there now would be the devil and all. Your article broke my peaceful combination just a week ago last Sunday."

"But I have undone my work. I have vindicated your mother. You have a right to be proud of her. She was as real a martyr as ever went to the stake."

"I know, but I'll be a marked figure, all the same."

"You were a marked figure before. But consider all explanations have been made--wait till you read my article. Go back!" she insisted. "I wish you would." Her voice was rich with pleading. "It would make me happy. I feel horribly guilty--really I do. I'm only a grubbing reporter-person--I've had to earn my way and keep house for my grandmother besides; but I'd gladly share my salary to help you return to college. Please go back--it will relieve my mind of a big burden."

He took her hand in the spirit in which it was offered. "I am within a few days of graduation, but--"

"Please go back--for the sake of a poor little newspaper wretch who feels that she has indirectly spoiled your career." She pressed his hand fervidly. "Promise me this and you'll take a monstrous load off my shoulders."

She had the face, the temperament of the actress, and loved to experiment on the hearts of men; but she was deeply in earnest now.

Bartol and Stinchfield had really changed her point of view as regards Mrs. Ollnee, and this "situation" appealed to her at the moment with irresistible power. Life was to her a drama, intense, never-ending, romantic, and at the moment she loved this splendid young man orphaned by her hand.

He could not resist her caressing voice, her appealing eyes, her sensitive lips, and he said, "I promise."

"Thank you," she said, and, dropping his hand, she lifted burning yet tearful eyes to his face. "You are very generous."

He went on, "I am sure you meant well."

"I don't want to rest under false imputations," she repeated. "I did not mean well. That first article was savage. I was angry. I struck blindly, but I struck to hurt."

"Well, all that is ended," he replied, sadly. "My mother is to be buried to-day."

She looked at him in silence for a moment. "I have one more request to make," she said, at last, and her voice was very soft and hesitating.

"I'd like to look upon her face. I want to ask her forgiveness."

His heart melted at this plea, and he turned away to hide his tears.

When he could speak he said: "She is very beautiful. I cannot believe even now that she is dead; but I have given my consent to have her taken to the cemetery. I will show her to you."

In silence she followed him up the stairway and into the cool, dark room where the coffin lay.

The windows were open at the bottom, and though the shades were drawn, the chamber was filled with soft light. The cries of the barn-yard and the twitter of birds outside seemed strangely softened as the two young people so singularly brought together approached the still form of the seeress and looked into her face serene with the infinite repose of death.

Victor, with choking throat and burning eyes, stood at the bier unable to utter a sound; but the girl, after a long glance, took a rose from her bosom, and, with a sigh, gently laid it on the still, small, white hands of the silent form.

"Accept my homage," she intoned, softly, "and if you can still see and hear, pardon me and forget my bitter words."

She stood a moment thereafter as if involuntarily listening, waiting, hoping--but the dead gave no sign.

THE END

Books by HAMLIN GARLAND

CAVANAGH--FOREST RANGER

THE CAPTAIN OF THE GRAY-HORSE TROOP.

HESPER

MONEY MAGIC.

THE LIGHT OF THE STAR.

THE TYRANNY OF THE DARK.

THE SHADOW WORLD

MAIN-TRAVELLED ROADS

PRAIRIE FOLKS

ROSE OF DUTCHER'S COOLLY

THE MOCCASIN RANCH.

TRAIL OF THE GOLD-SEEKERS

THE LONG TRAIL.

BOY LIFE ON THE PRAIRIE.