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xury！　　There　stood　his　father；　there　his　mother。　　What　gracious　dignity　they　had！　　Here　was　his　sister…what　beauty　and　elegance　and　grace　of　manner！　　But　Easter！　Wherever　she　was　placed　the　other　figures　needed　readjustment。　　There　was　something　irritably　incongruous…Ah！　now　he　had　it…his　mind　grew　hazy…he　was　asleep。

X

DURING　the　weeks　that　followed；　some　malignant　spirit　seemed　to　be　torturing　him　with　a　slow　realization　of　all　he　had　lost；　taunting　him　with　the　possibility　of　regaining　it　and　the　certainty　of　losing　it　forever。

As　he　stepped　from　the　dock　at　Jersey　City　the　fresh　sea　wind　had　thrilled　him　like　a　memory；　and　his　pulses　leaped　instantly　into　sympathy　with　the　tense　life　that　vibrated　in　the　air。　He　seemed　never　to　have　been　away　so　long；　and　never　had　home　seemed　so　pleasant。　　His　sister　had　grown　more　beautiful；　his　mother's　quiet；　noble　face　was　smoother　and　fairer　than　it　had　been　for　years；　and　despite　the　absence　of　his　father；　who　had　been　hastily　summoned　to　England；　there　was　an　air　of　cheerfulness　in　the　house　that　was　in　marked　contrast　to　its　gloom　when　Clayton　was　last　at　home。　　He　had　been　quickened　at　once　into　a　new　appreciation　of　the　luxury　and　refinement　about　him；　and　he　soon　began　to　wonder　how　he　had　inured　himself　to　the　discomforts　and　crudities　of　his　mountain　life。　　Old　habits　easily　resumed　sway　over　him。　　　At　the　club　friend　and　acquaintance　were　so　unfeignedly　glad　to　see　him　　that　he　began　to　suspect　that　his　own　inner　gloom　had　darkened　their　faces　　after　his　father's　misfortune。　　Day　after　day　found　him　in　his　favorite　　corner　at　the　club；　watching　the　passing　pageant　and　listening　eagerly　　to　the　conversational　froth　of　the　town…the　gossip　of　club；　theatre；　　and　society。　　His　ascetic　life　in　the　mountains　gave　to　every　pleasure　　the　taste　of　inexperience。　　His　early　youth　seemed　renewed；　　so　keen　and　fresh　were　his　emotions。　　He　felt；　too；　that　he　was　recovering　　a　lost　identity；　and　still　the　new　one　that　had　grown　around　him　　would　not　loosen　its　hold。　　He　had　told　his　family　nothing　of　Easter…why；　　he　could　scarcely　have　said…and　the　difficulty　of　telling　increased　each　day。　　　His　secret　began　to　weigh　heavily　upon　him；　and　though　he　determined　to　　unburden　himself　on　his　father's　return；　he　was　troubled　with　a　vague　sense　　of　deception。　　When　he　went　to　receptions　with　his　sister；　this　sense　of　　a　double　identity　was　keenly　felt　amid　the　lights；　the　music；　the　flowers；　　the　flash　of　eyes　and　white　necks　and　arms；　the　low　voices；　the　polite；　　clear…cut　utterances　of　welcome　and　compliment。

Several　times　he　had　met　a　face　for　which　he　had　once　had　a　boyish　infatuation。　　Its　image　had　never　been　supplanted　during　his　student　career；　but　he　had　turned　from　it　as　from　a　star　when　he　came　home　　and　found　that　his　life　was　to　be　built　with　his　own　hands。　Now　the　girl　had　　grown　to　gracious　womanhood；　and　when　he　saw　her　　he　was　thrilled　with　the　remembrance　that　she　had　once　favored　him　above　all　others。　One　night　a　desire　assailed　him　to　learn　upon　what　footing　he　then　stood。　　He　had　yielded；　and　she　gave　him　a　kindly　welcome。　　They　had　drifted　to　reminiscence；　and　Clayton　went　home　that　night　troubled　at　heart　and　angry　that　he　should　be　so　easily　disturbed；　surprised　that　the　days　were　passing　so　swiftly；　and　pained　that　they　were　filled　less　and　less　with　thoughts　of　Easter。　　With　a　pang　of　remorse　and　fear；　he　determined　to　go　back　to　the　mountains　as　soon　as　his　father　came　home。　　He　knew　the　effect　of　habit。　　He　would　forget　these　pleasures　felt　so　keenly　now；　as　he　had　once　forgotten　them；　and　he　would　leave　before　their　hold　upon　him　was　secure。

Knowing　the　danger　that　beset　him；　Puritan　that　he　was；　he　had　avoided　it　all　he　could。　　He　even　stopped　his　daily　visits　to　the　club；　and　spent　most　of　his　time　at　home　with　his　mother　and　sister。　　Once　only；　to　his　bitter　regret；　was　he　induced　to　go　out。　　Wagner's　tidal　wave　had　reached　New　York；　it　was　the　opening　night　of　the　season；　and　the　opera　was　one　that　he　had　learned　　to　love　in　Germany。　　The　very　brilliancy　of　the　scene　threw　him　into　gloom；　　so　aloof　did　he　feel　from　it　all…the　great　theatre　aflame　with　lights；　　the　circling　tiers　of　faces；　the　pit　with　its　hundred　musicians；　　their　eyes　on　the　leader；　who　stood　above　them　with　baton　upraised　and　German　face　already　aglow。

In　his　student　days　he　had　loved　music；　but　he　had　little　more　than　trifled　with　it；　now；　strangely　enough；　his　love；　even　his　understanding；　seemed　to　have　grown；　and　when　the　violins　thrilled　all　the　vast　space　into　life；　he　was　shaken　with　a　passion　newly　born。　All　the　evening　he　sat　riveted。　　A　rush　of　memories　came　upon　him…memories　of　his　student　life；　with　its　dreams　and　ideals　of　culture　and　scholarship；　which　rose　from　his　past　again　like　phantoms。　　In　the　elevation　of　the　moment　the　trivial　pleasures　that　had　been　tempting　him　became　mean　and　unworthy。　With　a　pang　of　bitter　regret　he　saw　himself　as　he　might　have　been；　as　he　yet　might　be。

A　few　days　later　his　father　came　home；　and　his　distress　of　mind　was　complete。　　Clayton　need　stay　in　the　mountains　but　little　longer；　he　said；　he　was　fast　making　up　his　losses；　and　he　had　hoped　after　his　trip　to　England　to　have　Clayton　at　once　in　New　York；　but　now　he　had　best　wait　perhaps　another　year。　　Then　had　come　a　struggle　　that　racked　heart　and　brain。　All　he　had　ever　had　was　before　him　again。　　Could　it　be　his　duty　to　shut　himself　from　this　life…his　natural　　heritage…to　stifle　the　highest　demands　of　his　nature？　　Was　he　seriously　　in　love　with　that　mountain　girl？　　Had　he　indeed　ever　been　sure　of　himself？　　　If；　then；　he　did　not　love　her　beyond　all　question；　would　he　not　wrong　himself；　　wrong　her；　by　marrying　her？　Ah；　but　might　he　not　wrong　her；　wrong　himself　…even　more？　　　He　was　bound　to　her　by　every　tie　that　his　sensitive　honor　recognized　　among　the　duties　of　one　human　being　to　another。　　He　had　sought　her；　he　had　lifted　her　above　her　own　life。　If　one　human　being　had　ever　put　its　happiness　in　the　hands　of　another；　that　had　been　done。　　If　he　had　not　deliberately　taught　her　to　love　him；　he　had　not　tried　to　prevent　it。　　He　could　not　excuse　himself；　the　thought　of　gaining　her　affection　had　occurred　to　him；　and　he　had　put　it　aside。　There　was　no　excuse；　for　when　she　gave　her　love；　he　had　accepted　it；　and；　as　far　as　she　knew；　had　given　his　own　unreservedly。　　Ah；　that　fatal　moment　of　weakness；　that　night　on　the　mountam…side！　　Could　he　tell　her；　could　he　tell　Raines；　the　truth；　and　ask　to　be　released？　What　could　Easter　with　her　devotion；　and　Raines　with　his　singleness　of　heart；　know　of　this　substitute　for　love　which　civilization　had　taught　him？　　Or；　granting　that　they　could　understand；　　he　might　return　home；　but　Easter…what　was　left　for　her？

It　was　useless　to　try　to　persuade　himself　that　her　love　would　fade　away；　perhaps　quickly；　and　leave　no　scar；　that　Raines　would　in　time　win　her　for　himself；　his　first　idea　of　their　union　be　realized；　and；　in　the　end；　all　happen　for　the　best。　That　might　easily　be　possible　with　a　different　nature　under　different　conditions…a　nature　less　passionate；　in　contact　with　the　world　and　responsive　to　varied　interests；　but　not　with　Easter　…alone　with　a　love　that　had　shamed　him；　with　mountain；　earth；　and　sky　unchanged；　and　the　vacant　days　marked　only　by　a　dreary　round　of　wearisome　tasks。　　He　remembered　　Raines　s　last　words…〃　Air　ye　goin'　to　leave　the　po'　gal　to　die　sorrowin'　fer　ye　？　〃　　What　happiness　would　be　possible　for　him　with　that　lonely　mountain…top　and　the　white；　drawn　face　forever　haunting　him？

　That　very　night　a　letter　came；　with　a　rude　superscription…the　first　from　Easter。　　Within　it　was　a　poor　tintype；　from　which　Easter's　eyes　looked　shyly　at　him。　　Before　he　left　he　had　tried　in　vain　to　get　her　to　the　tent　of　an　itinerant　photographer。　　During　his　absence；　she　had　evidently　gone　of　her　own　accord。　　The　face　was　very　beautiful；　and　in　it　was　an　expression　of　questioning；　modest　pride。　　〃Aren't　you　surprised？　〃it　seemed　to　say…〃　and　pleased？　Only　the　face；　　with　its　delicate　lines；　and　the　throat　and　the　shoulders　were　visible。　　　She　looked　almost　refined。　　And　the　note…it　was　badly　spelled　and　　written　with　great　difficulty；　but　it　touched　him。　　She　was　lonely；　　she　said；　and　she　wanted　him　to　come　back。　　Lonely…　that　cry　was　in　each　line。

His　response　to　this　was　an　instant　resolution　to　go　back　at　once；　and；　sensitive　and　pliant　as　his　nature　was；　there　was　no　hesitation　for　him　when　his　duty　was　clear　and　a　decision　once　made。　With　great　care　and　perfect　frankness　he　had　traced　the　history　of　his　infatuation　in　a　letter　to　his　father；　to　be　communicated　when　the　latter　chose　to　his　mother　and　sister。　Now　he　was　nearing　the　mountains　again。

XI

THE　journey　to　the　mountains　was　made　with　a　heavy　heart。　　In　his　absence　everything　seemed　to　have　suffered　a　change。　Jellico　had　never　seemed　so　small；　so　coarse；　so　wretched　as　when　he　stepped　from　the　dusty　train　and　saw　it　lying　dwarfed　and　shapeless　in　the　afternoon　sunlight。　　The　State　line　bisects　the　straggling　streets　of　frame…houses。　　On　the　Kentucky　side　an　extraordinary　spasm　of　morality　had　quieted　into　local　option。　Just　across　the　way　in　Tennessee　was　a　row　of　saloons。　　It　was　〃pay…day〃　for　the　miners；　and　the　worst　element　of　all　the　mines　was　drifting　in　to　spend　the　following　Sabbath　in　unchecked　vice。　Several　rough；　brawny　fellows　were　already　staggering　from　Tennessee　into　Kentucky；　and　around　one　saloon　hung　a　crowd　of　slatternly　negroes；　men　and　women。　Heartsick　with　disgust；　Clayton　hurried　into　the　lane　that　wound　through　the　valley。　　Were　these　hovels；　he　asked　himself　in　wonder；　the　cabins　he　once　thought　so　poetic；　so　picturesque？　How　was　it　that　they　suggested　now　only　a　pitiable　poverty　of　life？　From　each；　as　he　passed；　came　a　rough；　cordial　　shout　of　greeting。　Why　was　he　jarred　so　strangely？　Even　nature　had　changed。　　The　mountains　seemed　stunted；　less　beautiful。　The　light；　streaming　　through　the　western　gap　with　all　the　splendor　of　a　mountain　sunset；　no　longer　thrilled　him。　The　moist　fragrance　of　the　earth　at　twilight；　the　sad　pipings　of　birds　by　the　wayside；　the　faint；　clear　notes　of　a　wood…thrush…his　favorite…from　the　edge　of　the　forest；　even　the　mid…air　song　of　a　meadow…lark　above　h