Barriers Burned Away Part 31

Even in the midst of a great city the sweet odors of spring found their way to the private parlor where Christine sat by the window, still lost in painful thoughts.

"Nature is full of hope, and the promise of coming life. So ought I to be in this my spring-time. Why am I not? If I am sad and disappointed in my spring, how dreary will be my autumn, when leaf after leaf of beauty, health, and strength drops away!"

A m.u.f.fled figure, seemingly regardless of the rain, pa.s.sed slowly down the opposite side of the street. Though the person cast but a single quick glance toward her window, and though the twilight was deepening, something in the pa.s.ser-by suggested Dennis Fleet. For a moment she wished she could speak to him. She felt very lonely. Solitude had done her no good. Her troubles only grew darker and more real as she brooded over them. She instinctively felt that her father could not understand her, and she had never been able to go to him for sympathy. He was not the kind of person that any one would seek for such a purpose. Christine was not inclined to confidence, and there was really no one who knew her deeper feelings, and who could enter into her real hopes for life.

She was so proud and cold that few ever thought of giving her confidence, much less of asking hers.

Up to the time of her recent illness she had been strong, self-confident, almost a.s.sured of success. At times she recognized dimly that something was wrong; but she shut her eyes to the unwelcome truth, and determined to succeed. But her sickness and fears at that time, and now a failure that seemed to destroy the ambition of her life, all united in greatly shaking her self-confidence.

This evening, as never before, she was conscious of weakness and dependence. With the instinct of one sinking, her spirit longed for help and support. Then the thought suddenly occurred to her, "Perhaps this young stranger, who so clearly pointed out the disease, may also show the way to some remedy."

But the figure had pa.s.sed on. In a moment mere pride and conventionality resumed sway, and she smiled bitterly, saying to herself, "What a weak fool I am to-night! Of all things let me not become a romantic miss again."

She went to her piano and struck into a brilliant strain. For a few moments the music was of a forced and defiant character, loud, gay, but with no real or rollicking mirth in it, and it soon ceased. Then in a sharp contrast came a sad, weird German ballad, and this was real.

In its pathos her burdened heart found expression, and whoever listened then would not merely have admired, but would have felt. One song followed another. All the pent-up feeling of the day seemed to find natural flow in the plaintive minstrelsy of her own land.

Suddenly she ceased and went to her window. The m.u.f.fled figure stood in the shadow of an angle in the att.i.tude of a listener. A moment later it vanished in the dusk toward the business part of the city. The quick footsteps died away, and only the patter of the falling rain broke the silence. Christine felt sure that it was Dennis. At first her feeling was one of pleasure. His coming and evident interest took somewhat, she scarcely knew why, from her sense of loneliness. Soon her pride awoke, however, and she said: "He has no business here to watch and listen. I will show him that, with all his taste and intelligence, we have no ground in common on which he can presume."

Her father had also listened to the music, and said to himself: "Christine is growing a little sentimental. She takes this disappointment too much to heart. I must touch her pride with the spur a little, and that will make her ice and steel in a moment. It is no slight task to keep a girl's heart safe till you want to use it. I will wait till the practical daylight of to-morrow, and then she shall look at the world through my eyes again."

CHAPTER XXIX

DENNIS'S LOVE PUT TO PRACTICAL USE

The day following his unlucky criticism of the pictures was one of great despondency to Dennis. He had read in Christine's face that he had wounded her sorely; and, though she knew it to be unintentional, would it not prejudice her mind against him, and snap the slender thread by which he hoped to draw across the gulf between them the cord, and then the cable, that might in time unite their lives?

In the evening his restless, troubled spirit drove him, in spite of the rain, to seek to be at least nearer to her. He felt sure that in the dusk and wrapped in his greatcoat he would not be noticed, but was mistaken, as we have seen. He was rewarded, for he heard her sing as never before, as he did not believe she could sing. For the first time her rich, thoroughly trained voice had the sweetness and power of feeling. To Dennis her song seemed like an appeal, a cry for help, and his heart responded in the deepest sympathy. As he walked homeward he said to himself: "She could be a true artist, perhaps a great one, for she can feel. She has a heart. She has a taste and skill in touch that few can surpa.s.s. I can scarcely believe the beautiful coloring and faultless lines of that picture are her work." He long for a chance to speak with her and explain. He felt that he had so much to say, and in a thousand imaginary ways introduced the subject of her painting.

He hoped he might find her sketching in some of the rooms again. He thought that he knew her better for having heard her sing, and that he could speak to her quite frankly.

The next day she came to the store, but pa.s.sed him without the slightest notice. He hoped she had not seen him, and, as she pa.s.sed out, so placed himself that she must see him, and secured for his pains only a slight, cold inclination of the head.

"It is as I feared," he said, bitterly. "She detests me for having spoiled her triumph. She is not just," he added, angrily. "She has no sense of justice, or she would not blame me. What a mean-spirited craven I should have been had I shrunk away under her taunts yesterday.

Well, I can be proud too."

When she came in again he did not raise his eyes, and when she pa.s.sed out he was in a distant part of the store. Christine saw no tall m.u.f.fled figure under her window again, though she had the curiosity to look.

That even this humble admirer, for whom she cared not a jot, should show such independence rather nettled and annoyed her for a moment.

But she paid no more heed to him than to the other clerks.

But what was the merest jar to Christine's vanity cost Dennis a desperate struggle. It required no effort on her part to pa.s.s him by without a glance. To him it was torture. In a few days she ceased to think about him at all, and only remembered him in connection with her disappointment. But she was restless, could settle down to no work, and had lost her zest in her old pleasures. She tried to act as usual, for she saw her father's eye was on her. He had not much indulgence for any one's weaknesses save his own, and often by a little cold satire would sting her to the very quick. On the other hand, his admiration, openly expressed in a certain courtly gallantry, nourished her pride but not her heart. Though she tried to keep up her usual routine, her manner was forced before him and languid when alone. But he said, "All this will pa.s.s away like a cold snap in spring, and the old zest will come again in a few days."

It did, but from a cause which he could not understand, and which his daughter with consummate skill and care concealed. He thought it was only the old enthusiasm rallying after a sharp frost of disappointment.

Dennis's pride gave way before her cool and unstudied indifference.

It was clearly evident to him that he had no hold upon her life whatever, and how to gain any he did not see. He became more and more dejected.

"She must have a heart, or I could not love her so; but it is so incased in ice I fear I can never reach it."

That something was wrong with Dennis any friend who cared for him at all might see. The Bruders did, and, with the quick intuitions of woman, Mrs. Bruder half guessed the cause. Mr. Bruder, seeing preoccupation and sometimes weary apathy in Dennis's face, would say, "Mr. Fleet is not well."

Then, as even this slight notice of his different appearance seemed to give pain, Mr. Bruder was patiently and kindly blind to his pupil's inattention.

Dennis faithfully kept up all his duties on Sunday as during the week; but all was now hard work. Some little time after the unlucky morning which he could never think of without an expression of pain, he went to his mission cla.s.s as usual. He heard his boys recite their lessons, said a few poor lame words in explanation, and then leaned his head listlessly and wearily on his hand. He was startled by hearing a sweet voice say, "Well, Mr. Fleet, are you not going to welcome a new laborer into your corner of the vineyard?"

With a deep flush he saw that Miss Winthrop was in charge of the cla.s.s next to him, and that he had been oblivious to her presence nearly an hour. He tried to apologize. But she interrupted him, saying: "Mr.

Fleet, you are not well. Any one can see that."

Then Dennis blushed as if he had a raging fever, and she was perplexed.

The closing exercises of the school now occupied them and then they walked out together.

"Mr. Fleet," she said, "you never accepted my invitation. We have not seen you at our house. But perhaps your circle of friends is so large that you do not wish to add to it."

Dennis could not forbear a smile at the suggestion, but he said, in apology, "I do not visit any one, save a gentleman from whom I am taking lessons."

"Do you mean to say that you have no friends at all in this great city?"

"Well, I suppose that is nearly the truth; that is, in the sense you use the term. My teacher and his wife--"

"Nonsense! I mean friends of one's own age, people of the same culture and status as yourself. I think we require such society, as truly as we need food and air. I did not mean those whom business or duty brought you in contact with, or who are friendly or grateful as a matter of course."

"I have made no progress since my introduction to society at Miss Brown's," said Dennis.

"But you had the sincere and cordial offer of introduction," said Miss Winthrop, looking a little hurt.

"I feel hardly fit for society," said Dennis, all out of sorts with himself. "It seems that I can only blunder and give pain. But I am indeed grateful for your kindness."

Miss Winthrop looked into his worn, pale face, and instinctively knew that something was wrong, and she felt real sympathy for the lonely young man, isolated among thousands. She said, gently but decidedly: "I did mean my invitation kindly, and I truly wished you to come. The only proof you can give that you appreciate my courtesy is to accept an invitation for to-morrow evening. I intend having a little musical entertainment."

Quick as light flashed the thought, "Christine will be there." He said, promptly: "I will come, and thank you for the invitation. If I am awkward, you must remember that I have never mingled in Chicago society, and for a long time not in any."

She smiled merrily at him, and said, "Don't do anything dreadful, Mr.

Fleet."

He caught her mood, and asked what had brought her down from her theological peak to such a valley of humiliation as a mission school.

"You and Miss Ludolph" she answered, seriously. "Between you, you gave me such a lesson that afternoon at Miss Brown's that I have led a different life ever since. Christine made all as dark as despair, and against that darkness you placed the fiery Cross. I have tried to cling to the true cross ever since. Now He could not say to me, 'Inasmuch as ye did it not.' And oh!" said she, turning to Dennis with a smile full of the light of Heaven, "His service is so very sweet! I heard last week that teachers were wanted at this mission school, so I came, and am glad to find you a neighbor."

Dennis's face also kindled at her enthusiasm, but after a moment grew sad again.

"I do not always give so lifeless a lesson as to-day," he said, in a low voice.

"Mr. Fleet, you are not well. I can see that you look worn and greatly wearied. Are you not in some way overtaxing yourself?"

Again that sensitive flush, but he only said: "I a.s.sure you I am well.

Perhaps I have worked a little hard. That is all."