A Rose of Yesterday

ople. He disliked the tourists, the buildings, the distant scenery and the climate, and could give a reason for each separate aversion. Excepting the old tower, which was very much like a gre

le better than a perpetual chromolithograph, though at sunset it occasionally rose to the dignity of a transparent 'landscape' lamp-shade. The colonel's views of places were not wholly w

Mount Pilatus be supposed to be sensitive. He never abused Switzerland where any Swiss person could hear him. The same things, he said, were true of objects of art. If they failed to please, there could be no reason for their existence, or for

himself to yield to circumstances and come out of the house earlier than usual. He would certainly not have acknowledged that he had been driven fro

sant difficulties simply by refusing to think about them. And he examined the matter carefully as he went along, staring alternately at the sky and at the pavement, while his stick rang sharply in time w

dmother because his vanity would not allow him to wear spectacles. At this recollection, Colonel Wimpole smiled a little, though he was obliged to admit that Sylvia's eyes had always been very good. He wished, for a moment, that he were quite old already, instead of being only on the edge of old age. It

as tall and straight and active, dressed in the perfection of neatness and good taste. The straw hat shaded the

hadows of the darkened shop. He was positively relieved when he could clearly distinguish the fine lines and wrinkles and grey hairs, which he saw every morning in his mirror when he shaved.

rt young man stood beside her. Colonel Wimpole's fingers tightened suddenly upon the

ed, and listening to what the shopkeeper said. The colonel, just on the other side of the thick plate glass, could hear nothing, though he could have counted the heavy lashes that darkly fringed the drooping lids as the lady kept her eyes upon the miniature. But his heart was standing still, for she was the woman he had loved

int without which the face was like marble, which could come in a moment but was long in fading as a northern sunset, and which gave wonderful life to the expression while it lasted. The lady's features were bold and well cut, but there were sad lines of lifelong weariness about th

od and strong proportion, and she was dressed in black, though one small jewelle

onel he smiled, lifted his hat, and spoke to his mother. The lady started perceptibly and seemed to press the handle of her black parasol to her side. Several seconds passed after that, before the fringed lids were lifted, and the two looked at each other fixedly through the thick glass. A soft, slow smile smoothed and illuminated the lady's

eet her heart, and he was full of unexpected happiness. So, in dim winter days, the sun shines out in a sudden glory, and spring is in the air before her time, for an hour; but a

n mere friends. That was all that a stranger could have seen to suggest that Richard Wimpole had loved Helen Harmon for twenty-two y

ucerne," he observed, in

rue that the cross-roads of Europe are at Lucerne if they are anywhere. My sist

rybody stops here. We have been here ever s

before she spoke, as though she were

d. "Will you look at it for me? You know all a

. Harmon was thinking more of Wimpole than of the miniature; and he, when he answered, was wondering how he could succeed in be

ow and then, when her son was speaking, she was evidently nervous, and at the sound of his voice her eyes turned quickly and nervously towards his face, while the shadows about the corners of her mouth deepened a little, and her lips set themselves. When he said anything more witless than usual, she was extraordinarily

en she was angry it turned red, though there was no other change in her face. Then a little while, and her husband's mind had gone. Even then she had tried to take care of him, until it had been hopeless, and he had become dangerous. The mercy of death seemed far from him, and he still lived, for he was very strong. And all along there had been the slowly increasing certainty of another misfortune. Her son, her only child, had been like other children at first, then dull and backward, a

ved her still. He had fancied her indifferent to him; and Harmon had been his friend in young days. Harmon had been called fast, even then, but not vicious, and he had been rich. Wimpole had stood aside

rator of his property for her son, it had been necessary to go through all his disordered papers, and she had found a letter of Wimpole's to her husband, written long ago. Had it been a woman's letter, she would have

gh they had impelled him to do right. There had been some conversation between the friends, and Harmon had found out that Wimpole loved Helen. Not being yet so far in love as he was l

as he in all ways, and much richer, and it finally and definitely refused the offer of 'a chance.' There was nothing tragic about it, nor any high-flown word

twenty years, he had never said one word of it to her. In one sudden comprehension, she saw all his magnificent generosity of silence. For he had partly known how H

beyond some matters of business in which he had helped her, he had learned from others or had guessed. But he had guessed much. Little actions of

on of her secret; and still, to him, she seemed only to have chan

er hair, and the temptation was great, though her anger at herself was greater. Harmon was alive, and she was a married woman, though he was a madman. She would not kiss the letter, but she laid it gently upon the smouldering embers, and then turned away, that she m

ike marble, and only the soft, slow smile and the steady, gentle voice showed that she was

rse' and the sceptic's face assumes an expression of abject credulity, because the term has a modern ring and smacks of science. What is the difference between the two? We know a little chemistry: we can get something like the perfume of spring violets out of nauseous petroleum, and a flavour of strawberries out of stinking coal-tar; but we do not know much of the myriad natural laws by which ou

ch it had perhaps been measured and painted. He looked at the dealer quickly, and the man expressed his despair by turning up his eyes a very li

ink of it?" ask

or it," answered the colonel, who would not have let her buy an imitation under any

ing about the expression that pleases me. The lady looks so blindly happ

lonel

, putting it into her hand. "In that way I

hould not accept the little present. He was not rich, but she had understood from his first answer that the thing was n

she said. "

" said the colonel to the dealer, as the three w

Harmon had looked on sharply an

e, mother?" he asked, whe

" asked Mrs.

them? Like what Colonel Wimpole

are painted on ivory w

do they cost so

t his mother's expression did not change as she ans

are worth so much. It is like a good tailor, my dear, who is paid well because he makes g

Harmon. "It isn't the man's

't his fault, it'

r they pleased him. They walked along in the hot sun and then crossed the street opposite the Schweizerhof to reach the shade of the foolish-looki

enly, when young Harmon had relapsed int

y," said Helen Harm

she had ever loved him, he remembered the letter he had written to the man she had afterwards married, an

he asked, when they had go

uiet hotel on the oth

the colonel, just as the

tiff exchange of dry information about themselves and their movements, past, planned, and probable. For people who are fond of each

repeated, more softly but very emphatica

t meant nor from what it was derived. It seemed to be what Germans call a 'nature-sound,' by which he gave vent to his feelings. His mother hated it, but had never b

often bought them and took them home with him to decorate his own particular room. He loved best the ones printed in vio

pole, of course. The two were walking along on the other side of the bridge, talking together. Against the blaze of the afternoon s

aring at the girl. "But isn't she grow

layed together as small children, but he had never shown any special preference for her as a playmate. What struck him, now, was evidently her beauty. There was a look in his eyes, and a

onel al

to them?" he asked in a low v

em later. Besides, we have passed them now. Let us go

d Archie Harmon, in a tone of deep disappointmen

y," answered his mother. "I

money wherewith to buy bright-coloured posters and other gaudy things that attracted him. Up to a certain point, he could be trusted to himself, for he was almost as far from being an idiot as he was from being a normally thinking man. He was about as intelligent and about as well informed as a rather unusually dull schoolboy of twelve years or thereabouts. He did not lose his way in the streets, nor drop his money out of his pockets, and he could speak a little French and German which he had learned from a foreign nu

tual sorrow and sympathy. But he was affectionate and docile enough, not cruel as some such beings are, and certainly not vicious, so far as she

s own sake, under all circumstances, wherever it manifested itself. At ordinary times he was sufficiently cautious for his own safety, and would hesitate to risk a fall or scratch in climbing, where most boys would have been quite unaware of such possibilities. But at the sight of any living thing in danger, a reckless instinct to save it took possession of him, and his sluggish nature was roused to sudden and direct activity, without any intermediate process of thought. He had again and again given proof of courage that m

care about exhibiting it. Once, she had fallen and hurt her foot, and he had carried her up many stairs

e that she might be spared the humiliation of ever seeing him in love, despised or pitied, as the case might be, by some commonplace, pretty girl with white teeth and

e which had never been there before and heard that queer word of his uttered in such a tone. She wonde

Mrs. Harmon, as they rea

sappeared; for the conversation of those whom he still, in his own

Wimpole, when they were alone,

l words, his eyes were a little misty, and there was a certain

rom his with a sort of deprecation which he only half understoo

at each had to turn the head a little to face the other. It was easier to talk in that position because there

ber? I went to see you in New York the day before we started for Japan.

rs. Harmon. "Yes, it is terribl

eant to ask her about Ha

on the first of last month. I shall have another report in a day or two. But they

olonel, in a low voice, and the two turn

lth," said Mrs. Harmo

a hot afternoon, and she had come into the sitting-room as she was. The colonel noticed h

said, as she laid

e heat of which she complained, a

ings really to go on

ttle, but did

" she said. "I am not--

e released from it al

er suggested such a possibility

eeing that she did not answer at once. "It is not as if you had not had fifty good

bout a divorce," said

ight it was hard to stop him. "You have spent half your life in sacrificing all of yourself. Surely you have a right to the other half. There is not

e was an effort in her voice. "I hate to talk in this way, for I detest the idea of divorce, and the principle of it, and all its

rved the colonel, rather surprised by her outbreak, though

ltogether; it means reducing marriage to a mere experiment which may last a few days, a few weeks, or a few months, according to the people who try it. There are m

med Colonel Wimpo

on, with conviction. "You only argue on th

look at her as he

on, "and because you have got it into your head that I should be happier.

d a little on the air like the sad singing of a bell's last note,

e, even now," he said. "Suppos

her, but she pressed her lips together a little and let her h

as I do that doctors are not always right, and there is n

think it i

to hear that he was better and better, and finally well, and, a

r every human being has a prime right of self-preservation, against which no argument avails, save that of a divinely good and noble cause to be defended. Yet the moral wickedness of praying that Harmon might be a madman all the rest of his life frightened her. Throughout twenty years and more she had faced suffering

ere let out, he would come back to you, and you would receive him, for I know what you are. You would think it right to

her distress she leaned forward in her seat and put up her hands to her temples, as though she had pain, gently pushing back the heavy hair she wore so low on her forehead. Wimpole had never seen h

ed you. I believe that is the man's part of the contract, is it not? And marriage is always called a contract, is it not? Now, in any contract, both part

s a bond, a vow--something respected by man because it is sacred before God. If Hen

d, and her hands pushed her hai

ped short, for as he watched her, he saw what he had never seen before, a deep and crooked scar high o

ay. He could see that her fingers trembled as she tried to draw her hair down again. It was not like he

again, determined to have an a

ago--" She hesitated, for

that one is not many years old. It does not look as though you had got it in

e about it! I canno

, at evening, a sudden frost falls upon a still water, and the first ice-needles shoot out, cl

he wrathful thought that followed was not

at her silence meant her assent. Wimpole rose suddenly, straight as a rifle, and walked to the window, turning his ba

he was doing," Helen s

t of death Harmon might have died if Richard Wimpole had seen him strike her to the ground with a cut-glass decanter. For a moment the cloak of mercy and forgiveness was rent from head to heel. The colonel would have killed the man with those

pole could speak. Then he c

u do not mean to go away at o

es

o away now, and come an

ically and left the room. But