Part 32 (2/2)

Ah, John Harrington, what have you done? You have taken the most precious and pure thing in this world, the thing men as brave as you have given their heart's best blood to win and have perished for failing, the thing which angels guard and Heaven has in its keeping--the love of a good and n.o.ble woman. It has come into your hands and you do not want it. You hardly know it is yours; and if you fully knew it you would not know what to do!

You are innocent, indeed; you have done nothing, spoken no word, given no look that, in your opinion, your cold indifferent opinion, could attract a woman's love. But the harm is done, nevertheless, and a great harm too.

When you are old and sensible you will look back to this day as one of sorrow and evil, and you will know then that all greatness and power and glory of realized ambition are nothing unless a man have a woman's love.

You will know that a man who cannot love is blind to half the world he seeks to conquer, and that a man who cannot love truly is no true man, for he who is not true to one cannot be true to many. That is the sum and reckoning of what love is worth.

But John knew of nothing beyond friends.h.i.+p, and he could not conceive how friends.h.i.+p could turn into anything else. When he saw the tear on Josephine Thorn's cheek he was greatly disturbed, and vaguely wondered what in the world he should do. The idea that any woman could care enough for him to shed a tear when he left her had never crossed his mind; even now, with the actual fact before his eyes, he doubted whether it were possible. She was ill, perhaps, and suffering pain. Pshaw! it was absurd, it could not be that she cared so much for him.

Seeing she did not move, he sat quite still for a while. His usual tact had deserted him in the extremity of the situation. He revolved in his mind what was best to say. It was safest to suppose that Joe was ill, but he would say something indifferent, in order to see whether she recovered, before he suggested that he might be of a.s.sistance.

”It is cold here,” he remarked, trying to speak as naturally as possible.

”Would you not like to take a turn, Miss Thorn?”

Joe moved a little. She was deadly pale, and in the effort she had made to control her feelings she was unconscious of the tears in her eyes.

”Oh no, thanks,” she faltered, ”I will not dance just now.” She could not say more.

John made up his mind.

”You are ill, Miss Thorn,” he said anxiously. ”I am sure you are very far from well. Let me get you something, or call your aunt. Shall I?”

”Oh no--don't--that is--please, I think so. I will go home.”

John rose quickly, but before he reached the door she called him back.

”Mr. Harrington, it is nothing. Please sit down.”

John came back and did as he was bid, more and more surprised and confused.

”I was afraid it was something serious,” he said nervously, for he was greatly disturbed.

Joe laughed, a bitter, harsh little laugh, that was bad to hear. She was making a great effort, but she was strong, and bravely forced back her bursting tears.

”Oh no! I was only choking,” she said. ”I often do. Go on, please, with what you were saying. Why are you going away so suddenly?”

”Indeed,” answered John, ”I do not know what the business is. I am going if I am required, simply because my friend wants me.”

”Do you mean to say,” asked Joe, speaking more calmly, ”that you will pack up your belongings and go to the end of the world whenever a friend asks you to? It is most tremendously obliging, you know.”

”Not for any friend,” John replied. ”But I would most certainly do it for this particular one.”

”You must be very fond of him to do that,” said Joe.

”I am under great obligations to him, too. He is certainly the most important man with whom I have any relations. We can trust each other-it would not do to endanger the certainty of good faith that exists between us.”

”He must be a very wonderful person,” said Joe, who had grown quite calm by this time. ”I should like to know him.”

”Very possibly you may meet him, some day. He is a very wonderful person indeed, as you say. He has devoted fifty years of his life and strength to the unremitting pursuit of the best aim that any man can set before him.”

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