roof. An overflow pipe sent a sparkling, bubbling and laughing through the lawn, refreshing the wild flowers planted along its edges.
The view from the window looking south was one of ravishing beauty and endless charm. Perched on a rising spur of the Black Mountain the house commanded a view of the long valley of the Swannanoa opening at the lower end into the wide, sunlit sweep of the lower hills around Asheville. Upward the balsam-crowned peaks towered among the clouds and stars.
No two hours of the day were just alike. Sometimes the sun was raining showers of diamonds on the trembling tree-tops of the valleys while the blackest storm clouds hung in ominous menace around Mount Mitchell and the Cat-tail. Sometimes it was raining in the valley–the rain cloud a level sheet of gray cloth stretching from the foot of the lawn across to the crags beyond, while the sun wrapped the little bungalow in a warm, white mantle.
Mary had never tired of this enchanted world during the days of her convalescence. The Doctor, with firm will, had lifted every care from her mind. She had gratefully submitted to his orders, and asked no questions.
She began to wonder vaguely about his life and people and why he had left the world in which a man of his culture and power must have moved, to bury himself in these mountain wilds. She wondered if he had married, separated from his wife and chosen the life of a recluse. He volunteered no information about himself.
When not attending his patients he spent his hours in the greenhouse among his flowers or in the long library extension of the bungalow. More than five thousand volumes filled the solid shelves. A massive oak table, ten feet in length and four feet wide, stood in the center of the room, always generously piled with books, magazines and papers. At the end of this table he kept the row of books which bore immediately on the theme he was studying.
Beside the window opening on the view of the valley stood his old-fashioned desk–six feet long, its top a labyrinth of pigeon-holes and tiny drawers.
He pursued his studies with boyish enthusiasm and chattered of them to Mary by the hour–with never a word passing his lips about himself.
Aunt Abbie, the cook, brought her a cup of tea, and Mary volunteered a question.
“Do you know the Doctor’s people, Auntie?” she asked hesitatingly.
“Lord, child, he’s a mystery to everybody! All we know is that he’s the best man that ever walked the earth. He won’t talk and the mountain folks are too polite to nose into his business. He saved my boy’s life one summer, and when he was strong and well and went back to Asheville to his work, I had nothin’ to do but to hold my hands, and I come here to cook for him. He tries to pay me wages but I laugh at him. I told him if he could save my boy’s life for nothin’ I reckon I could cook him a few good meals without pay—-“
Her eyes filled with tears. She brushed them off, laughed and added:
“He lets me alone now and don’t pester me no more about money.”
Her tea and toast finished, Mary placed the tray on the table, rose with a sudden look of pain, and made her way slowly to the library.
A warm fire of hardwood logs sparkled in the big stone fireplace. The Doctor was out on a visit to a patient. He had given her the freedom of the place and had especially insisted that she use his books and make his library her resting place whenever her mind was fagged. She had spent many quiet hours in its inspiring atmosphere.
She seated herself at his desk and studied the calendar which hung above it. A sudden terror overwhelmed her; she buried her face in her arms and burst into tears.
She was still lying across the desk, sobbing, when the Doctor walked into the room.
He touched her hair reproachfully with his firm hand.
“Why, what’s this? My little soldier has disobeyed orders?”
“I don’t want to live now,” she sobbed.
“And why not?”
“I–I–am going to be a mother,” she whispered.
“So?”
“The mother of a criminal! Oh, Doctor, it’s horrible! Why did you let me live? The hell I passed through that night was enough–God knows! This will be unendurable. I’ve made up my mind–I’ll die first—-“
“Rubbish, child! Rubbish!” he answered with a laugh. “Where did you get all this misinformation?”
“You know what my husband was. How can you ask?”
“Because I happen to know also his wife–the mother-to-be of this supposed criminal who has just set sail for the shores of our planet–and I know that she is one of the purest and sweetest souls who ever lost her way in the jungles of the world. If you were the criminal, dear heart, the case might be hopeless. But you’re not. You are only the innocent victim of your own folly. That doesn’t count in the game of Nature—-“
“What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.
“Simply this: The part which the male plays in the reproduction of the race is small in comparison with the role of the female. He is merely a supernumerary who steps on the stage for a moment
and speaks one word announcing the arrival of the queen. The queen is the mother. She plays the star role in the drama of Heredity. She is never off the stage for a single moment. We inherit the most obvious physical traits from our male ancestors but even these may be modified by the will of the mother.”
“Modified by the will of the mother?” she repeated blankly.
“Certainly. There are yet long days and weeks and months before your babe will be born–at least seven months. There’s not a sight or sound of earth or heaven that can reach or influence this coming human being save through your eyes and ears and touch and soul. Almighty God can speak His message only through you. You are his ambassador on earth in this solemn hour. What your husband was, is of little importance. There is not a moment, waking or sleeping, day or night, that does not bring to you its divine opportunity. This human life is yours–absolutely to mold and fashion in body and mind as you will.”
“You’re just saying this to keep me from suicide,” Mary interrupted.
“I am telling you the simplest truth of physical life. You can even change the contour of your baby’s head if you like. You think in your silly fears that the bull neck and jaw of the father will reappear in the child. It might be so unless you see fit to change it. All any father can do is to transmit general physical traits unless modified by the will of the mother.”
“You mean that I can choose even the personal appearance of my child?” she asked in blank amazement.
“Exactly that. Choose the type of man you wish your babe to be and it shall be so. Who in all the world would you prefer that he resemble?”
“You,” she answered promptly.
He smiled gently.
“That pays me for all my trouble, child! No doctor ever got a bigger fee than that. Banks may fail, but I’ll never lose it. Your choice simplifies that matter very much. You won’t need a picture in your room—-“
“A picture could determine the features of an unborn babe?” she asked incredulously.
“Beyond a doubt, and it will determine character sometimes. I knew a mother in the mountains of Vermont who hung the picture of a ship under full sail in her living-room. She bore seven sons. Not one of them ever saw the ocean until he was grown and yet all of them became sailors. This was not an accident. In her age and loneliness she blamed God for taking her children from her. Yet she had made sailors of them all by the selection of a single piece of furniture in her room. Nature has a way of starting her children on their journey through this world very nearly equal– each a bundle of possibilities in the hands of a mother. A father may transmit physical disease, if his body is unsound. Such marriages should be prohibited by law. But nine-tenths of the spiritual traits out of which character is formed are the work of the mother. A criminal mother will bring into the world only criminals. A criminal male may be the father of a saint. The responsibility of shaping the destiny of the race rests with the mother—-“
The Doctor sprang to his feet and paced the floor, his arms gripped behind his back in deep thought. He paused before the enraptured listener and hesitated to speak the thought in his mind.
He lifted his hand suddenly, his decision apparently made.
“It is of the utmost importance to the race that our mothers shall be pure. Better certainly if both father and mother are so. It is indispensable that the mother shall be! On this elemental fact rests the dual standard of sex morals. On this fact rests the hope of a glorified humanity through the development of an intelligent motherhood. Stay here with me until your child is born and I’ll prove the truth of every word I’ve spoken—-“
“Oh, if I only could!”
“Why not?”
“I couldn’t impose such a burden on you!” she faltered.
“You would confer on me the highest honor, if you will allow me to direct you in this experiment.”
There was no mistaking his honesty and earnestness. There was no refusing the appeal.
“You really wish me to stay?” she asked.
“I beg of you to stay! You will bring to me a new inspiration–new faith–new courage to fight. Will you?”
She extended her hand.
“Yes.”
“And you will agree to follow my instructions?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. We begin from this moment. I give you my first orders. Forget that James Anthony ever lived. Forget the tragedy of Christmas Eve. You are going to be a mother. All other events in life pale before this fact. God has conferred on you the highest honor He can give to mortal. Keep your soul serene, your body strong. You are to worry about nothing—-“
“I must pay you for this extra expense I impose, Doctor. I have a thousand dollars in bank in New York,” she interrupted.
“Certainly, if you will be happier. My home is now your sanitarium. You are my patient. Your board will cost me about eight dollars a week. All right. You can pay that if you wish.
“Take no thought now except on the business of being a mother. I will make myself your father, your brother, your guardian, your physician, your friend and companion. I will give you at once a course of reading. You are to think only beautiful thoughts, see beautiful things, dream beautiful dreams, hear beautiful music. I’m going to make you climb these mountain peaks with me for the next three months and live among the clouds. I’m going to refit your room with new furniture and pictures and place in it a phonograph with the best music. When you are strong enough you can work for me three hours a day as my secretary. You use the typewriter?”
“I’m an expert—-“
“Good! I’m writing a book which I’m going to call `The Rulers of the World.’ It is a study of Motherhood. I am one who believes that the redemption of humanity awaits the realization by woman of her divine call. When woman knows that she is really a co- creator with God in the reproduction of the race, a new era will dawn for mankind. You promise me faithfully to obey my instructions?”
“Faithfully.”
“You’re a wonderful subject on which to make an experiment. You are young–in the first dawn of the glory of womanhood. Your body is beautiful, your mind singularly pure and sweet. You must give me at once the full power of your will in its concentration on Truth and Beauty. The success or failure of this experiment will depend almost entirely on your mentality and the use you make of it during these months in which your babe is being formed. Whatever the shape of the body there is one eternal certainty– only YOUR mind can reach the soul of this child. If the father were the veriest fiend who ever existed and should concentrate his mind to the task, not one thought from his darkened soul could reach your babe! YOUR mind will be the ever-brooding, enfolding spirit forming and fashioning character.”
He paused and his deep brown eyes flashed with enthusiasm.
“Think of it! You are now creating an immortal being whose word may bend a million wills to his. And you are doing this mighty work solely by your mind. The physical processes are simple and automatic.
“The first lesson you must learn and hold with deathless grip is that thoughts are things. A thought can kill the body. A thought can heal the body. If I am successful as a physician it is because I use this power with my patients. With some I use drugs, with others none. With all I use every ounce of mental power which God has given me. You will remember this?”
“Yes.”
He walked to the shelves and drew down a volume of poetry.
“Read these poems until you are tired today–then sleep. I’ll give you a good novel tomorrow and when you’ve read it, a volume of philosophy. When we climb the peaks, I’ll give you a study of these rocks that will tell you the story of their birth, their life, and their coming death. We’ll learn something of the birds and flowers next spring. We’ll dream great dreams and think great thoughts–you and I–in these wonderful days and weeks and months which God shall give us together.”
She looked up at him through her tears:
“Oh, Doctor, you have not only saved a miserable life: you have saved my soul!”
CHAPTER XXVI
A SOUL IS BORN
It was more than a month after the experiment began before the Doctor ventured to hint of Jim’s survival. He had waited patiently until Mary’s strength had been fully restored and her
mind filled with the new enthusiasm for motherhood. He could tell her now with little risk. And yet he ventured on the task with reluctance. He found her seated at her favorite window overlooking the deep blue valley of the Swannanoa, a volume of poetry in her lap.
He touched her shoulder and she smiled in cheerful response.
“You are content?” he asked.
“A strange peace is slowly stealing into my heart,” she responded reverently. “I shall learn to love life again when my baby comes to help me.”
“You remember your solemn promise?”
“Have I not kept it?” she murmured.
“Faithfully–and I remind you of it that you may not forget today for a moment that your work is too high and holy to allow a shadow to darken your spirit even for an hour. I have something to tell you that may shock a little unless I warn you—-“
She lifted her eyes with a quick look of uneasiness, and studied his immovable face.
“You couldn’t guess?” he laughed.
She shook her head in puzzled silence.
“Suppose I were to tell you,” he went on evenly, “that I found a spark of life in your husband’s body that morning and drew him back from the grave?”
Her eyes closed and she stretched her hand toward the Doctor.
He clasped the fingers firmly between both his palms, held and stroked them gently.
“You did save him?” she breathed.
“Yes.”
“Thank God his poor old mother is not a murderer! But he is dead to me. I shall never see him again– never!”
“I thought you would feel that way,” the Doctor quietly replied.
“You won’t let him come here?” she asked suddenly.
“He won’t try unless you consent—-“
Mary shuddered.
“You don’t know him—-“
The Doctor smiled.
“I’m afraid you don’t know him now, my child.”
“He has changed?”
“The old, old miracle over again. He has been literally born again–this time of the spirit.”
“It’s incredible!”
“It’s true. He’s a new man. I think his reformation is the real thing. He’s young. He’s strong. He has brains. He has personality—-“
Mary lifted her hand.
“All I ask of him is to keep out of my sight. The world is big enough for us both. The past is now a nightmare. If I live to be a hundred years old, with my dying breath I shall feel the grip of his fingers on my throat—-“
She paused and closed her eyes.
“Forget it! Forget it!” the Doctor laughed. “We have more important things to think of now.”
“He wishes to see me?”
“Begs every day that I ask you.”
“And you have hesitated these long weeks?”
“Your strength and peace of mind were of greater importance than his happiness, my dear. Let him wait until you please to see him.”
“He’ll wait forever,” was the firm answer.
Jim smiled grimly when his friend bore back the message.
“I’ll never give up as long as there’s breath in my body,” he cried, bringing his square jaws together with a snap.
“That’s the way to talk, my boy,” the Doctor responded.
“Anyhow you believe in me, Doc, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ll help me a little on the way if it gets dark–won’t you?”
“If I can–you may always depend on me.”
Jim clasped his outstretched hand gratefully.
“Well, I’m going to make good.”
There was something so genuine and manly in the tones of his voice, he compelled the Doctor’s respect. A smaller man might have sneered. The healer of souls and bodies had come to recognize with unerring instinct the true and false note in the human voice.
His heart went out in a wave of sympathy for the lonely, miserable young animal who stood before him now, trembling with the first sharp pains of the immortal thing that had awaked within. He slipped his arm about Jim’s shoulders and whispered:
“I’ll tell you something that may help you when the way gets dark–the wife is going to bear you a child.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“God!—- That’s great, ain’t it?”
Jim choked into silence and looked up at the Doctor with dimmed eyes.
“Say, Doc, you hit me hard when you brought what she said–but that’s good news! Watch me work my hands to the bone–you know it’s my kid and she can’t keep me from workin’ for it if she tries now can she?”
“No.”
“There’s just one thing that’ll hang over me like a black cloud,” he mused sorrowfully.
“I know, boy–your mother’s darkened mind.”
Jim nodded.
“When I see that queer glitter in her eyes it goes through me like a knife. Will she ever get over it?”
“We can’t tell yet. It takes time. I believe she will.”
“You’ll do the best you can for her, Doc?” he pleaded pathetically. “You won’t forget her a single day? If you can’t cure her, nobody can.”
“I’ll do my level best, boy.”
Jim pressed his hand again.
“Gee, but you’ve been a friend to me! I didn’t know that there were such men in the world as you!”
For six months the Doctor watched the transplanted child of the slums grow into a sturdy manhood in his new environment. He snapped at every suggestion his friend gave and with quick wit improved on it. He not only discovered and developed a mica mine on his mother’s farm, he invented new machinery for its working that doubled the market output. Within six weeks from the time he began his shipments the mine was paying a steady profit of more than five hundred dollars a month. He had made just one trip to New York and secretly returned to the police every stolen jewel and piece of plunder taken, with a full confession of the time and place of the crime. He had shipped his tools and machinery from the workshop on the east side before his sensational act and made good his departure for the South.
The tools and machinery he installed in a new workshop which he built in the yard of Nance’s cabin. Here he worked day and night at his blacksmith forge making the iron hinges, and irons, shovels, tongs, fire sets and iron work complete for a log bungalow of seven rooms which he was building on the sunny slope of the mountain which overlooks the valley toward Asheville.
The Doctor had lent Jim the blue-prints of his own home and he was quietly duplicating it with loving care. His wife might refuse to see him but he could build a home for their boy. For his sake she couldn’t refuse it.
With childlike obedience Nance followed him every day and watched the workmen rear the beautiful structure under Jim’s keen eyes and skillful hands. The man’s devotion to his mother was pathetic. Only the Doctor knew the secret of his pitiful care, and he kept his own counsel.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE BABY
The last roses of summer were bursting their topmost buds into full bloom on the lawn of the Doctor’s bungalow. The martins that built each year in the little boxes he had set on poles around his garden were circling and chattering far up in the sapphire skies of a late September day. Their leaders had sensed the coming frost and were drilling for their long march across the world to their winter home. The chestnut burrs were bursting in the woods. The silent sun- wrapped Indian Summer had begun. Not a cloud flecked the skies.
A quiet joy filled the soul of the woman who smiled and heard her summons.
“You are not afraid?” the Doctor asked.
She turned her grateful eyes to his.
“The peace of God fills the world–and I owe it all to you.”
“Nonsense. Your sturdy will and cultivated mind did the work. I merely made the suggestion.”
“You are not going to give me an anesthetic, are you?” she said evenly.
“Why did you ask that?”
“Because I wish to feel and know the pain and glory of it all.”
“You don’t wish to take it?”
“Not unless you say I should.”
“What a wonderful patient you are, child! What a beautiful spirit!” He looked at her intently. “Well, I’m older and wiser in experience than you. I’m glad you added that clause `unless you say I should.’ I’m going to say it. After all my talks to you on our return to the truths and simplicity of Nature you are perhaps surprised. You needn’t be. I’m going to put you into a gentle sleep. Nature will then do her physical work automatically. I do this because our daughters are the inheritors of the sins of their mothers for centuries. The over-refinement of nerves, the hothouse methods of living, and the maiming of their bodies with the inventions of fashion have made the pains of this supreme hour beyond endurance. This should not be. It will not be so when our race has come into its own. But it will take many generations and perhaps many centuries before we reach the ideal. No physician who has a soul could permit a woman of your physique, your culture and refinement to walk barefoot and blindfolded into such a hell of physical torture. I will not permit it.”
He walked quietly into his laboratory, prepared the sleeping powders and gave them to her.
Six hours later she opened her eyes with eager wonder. Aunt Abbie was busy over a bundle of fluffy clothes. The Doctor was standing with his arms folded behind his back, his fine, clean-shaven face in profile looking thoughtfully over the sun-lit valley. There was just one moment of agonized fear. If they had failed! If her child were hideous–or deformed! Her lips moved in silent prayer.
“Doctor?” she whispered.
In a moment he was bending over her, a look of exaltation in his brown eyes.
“Tell me quick!”
“A wonderful boy, little mother! The most beautiful babe I have ever seen. He didn’t even cry– just opened his big, wide eyes and grunted contentedly.”
“Give him to me.”
Aunt Abbie laid the warm bundle in her arms and she pressed it gently until the sweet, red flesh touched her own. She lay still for a moment, a smile on her lips.
“Lift him and let me look!”
“What a funny little pug nose,” she laughed.
“Yes–exactly like his mother’s!” the Doctor replied.
She gazed with breathless reverence.
“He is beautiful, isn’t he?” she sighed.
“And you have observed the chin and mouth?”
“Exactly like yours. It’s wonderful!”
CHAPTER XXVIII
WHAT IS LOVE?
Eighteen months swiftly passed with the little mother and her boy still in Dr. Mulford’s sanitarium. She had allowed herself to be persuaded that he had the right to be her guide and helper in the first year’s training of the child.
The boy had steadily grown in strength and beauty of body and mind. The Doctor persuaded her to spend one more winter basking in his sun-parlor and finishing the final chapters of his book. Her mind was singularly clever and helpful in the interpretation of the experiences and emotions of motherhood.
She had stubbornly resisted every suggestion to see her husband or allow him to see the child. The Doctor had managed twice to give Jim an hour with the baby while she had gone to Asheville on shopping trips. He was rewarded for his trouble in the devotion with which the young father worshiped his son. The Doctor watched the slumbering fires kindle in the man’s deep blue eyes with increasing wonder at the strength and tenderness of his newfound soul.
Jim had completed the furnishing of the bungalow with the advice and guidance of his friend, and every room stood ready and waiting for its mistress. He had insisted on making every piece of furniture for Mary’s room and the nursery adjoining. The Doctor was amazed at the mechanical genius he displayed in its construction. He had taken a month’s instruction at a cabinet maker’s in Asheville and the bed, bureau, tables and chairs which he had turned out were astonishingly beautiful. Their lines were copied from old models and each piece was a work of art. The iron work was even more tastefully and beautifully wrought. He had toiled day and night with an enthusiasm and patience that gave the physician a new revelation in the possibility of the development of human character.
His friend came at last with a cheering message. He began smilingly:
“I’m going to make the big fight today, boy, to get her to see you.”
“You think she will?”
“There’s a good chance. Her savings have all been used up from her bank account in New York. She is determined to go to her father in Kentucky. I’ll have a talk with her, bring her over to the bungalow, show her through it on the pretext of its model construction and then you can tell her that you built it with your own hands for her and the baby. You might be loafing around the place about that time.”
Jim’s hand was suddenly lifted.
“I got ye, Doc, I got ye! I’ll be there–all day.”
“Don’t let her see you until I give the signal.”
“Caution’s my name.”
“We’ll see what happens.”
Jim pressed close.
“Say, Doc, if you know how to pray, I wish you’d send up a little word for me while you’re talkin’ to her. Could ye now?”
“I’ll do my best for you, boy–and I think you’ve got a chance. She’s been watching the blue eyes of that baby lately with a rather curious look of unrest.”
“They’re just like mine, ain’t they?” Jim broke in with pride.
“Time has softened the old hurt,” the Doctor went on. “The boy may win for you—-“
The square jaw came together with a smash.
“Gee–I hope so. I’ll wait there all day for you and I’m goin’ to try my own hand at a little prayer or two on the side while I’m waiting. Maybe God’ll think He’s hit me hard enough by this time to give me another trial.”
With a friendly wave of his hand the Doctor hurried home.
He found Mary seated under the rose trellis beside the drive, watching for his coming. The day was still and warm for the end of April. Birds were singing and chattering in every branch and tree. A quail on the top fence-rail of the wheat field called loudly to his mate.
The boy was screaming his joy over a new wagon to which Aunt Abbie had hitched his goat. He drove by in style, lifted his chubby hand to his mother and shouted:
“Dood-by, Doc-ter!”
The Doctor waved a smiling answer, and lapsed into a long silence.
He waked at last from his absorption to notice that Mary was day-dreaming. The fair brow was drawn into deep lines of brooding.
“Why shadows in your eyes a day like this, little mother?” he asked softly.
“Just thinking—-“
“About a past that you should forget?”
“Yes and no,” she answered thoughtfully. “I was just thinking in this flood of spring sunlight of the mystery of my love for such a man as the one I married. How could it have been possible to really love him?”
“You are sure that you loved him?”
“Sure.”
“How did you know?”
“By all the signs. I trembled at his footstep. The touch of his hand, the sound of his voice thrilled me. I was drawn by a power that was resistless. I was mad with happiness those wonderful days that preceded our marriage. I was madder still during our honeymoon–until the shadows began to fall that fatal Christmas Eve.” She paused and her lips trembled. “Oh, Doctor, what is love?”
The drooping shoulders of the man bent lower. He picked up a pebble from the ground and flicked it carelessly across the drive, lifted his head at last and asked earnestly:
“Shall I tell you the truth?”
“Yes–your own particular brand, please–the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”
“I’ll try,” he began soberly. “If I were a poet, naturally I would use different language. As I’m only a prosaic doctor and physiologist I may shock your ideals a little.”
“No matter,” she interrupted. “They couldn’t well get a harder jolt than they have had already.”
He nodded and went on:
“There are two elemental human forces that maintain life–hunger and love. They are both utterly simple, otherwise they could not be universal. Hunger compels the race to live. Love compels it to reproduce itself. There has never been anything mysterious about either of these forces and there never will be–except in the imagination of sentimentalists.
“Nature begins with hunger. For about thirteen years she first applies this force to the development of the body before she begins to lay the foundation of the second. Until this second development is complete the passion known as love cannot be experienced.
“What is this second development? Very simple again. At the base of the brain of every child there is a vacant space during the first twelve or fifteen years. During the age of twelve to fourteen in girls, thirteen to fifteen in boys, this vacant space is slowly filled by a new lobe of the brain and with its growth comes the consciousness of sex and the development
of sex powers.
“This new nerve center becomes on maturity a powerful physical magnet. The moment this magnet comes into contact with an organization which answers its needs, as certain kinds of food answer the needs of hunger, violent desire is excited. If both these magnets should be equally powerful, the disturbance to both will be great. The longer the personal association is continued the more violent becomes this disturbance, until in highly sensitive natures it develops into an obsession which obscures reason and crushes the will.
“The meaning of this impulse is again very simple– the unconscious desire of the male to be a father, of the female to become a mother.”
“And there is but one man on earth who could thus affect me?” Mary asked excitedly.
“Rubbish! There are thousands.”
“Thousands?”
“Literally thousands. The reason you never happen to meet them is purely an accident of our poor social organization. Every woman has thousands of true physical mates if she could only meet them. Every man has thousands of true physical mates if he could only meet them. And in every such meeting, if mind and body are in normal condition, the same violent disturbance would result–whether married or single, free or bound.
“Marriage therefore is not based merely on the passion of love. It is a crime for any man or woman to marry without love. It is the sheerest insanity to believe that this passion within itself is sufficient to justify marriage. All who marry should love. Many love who should not marry.
“The institution of marriage is the great SOCIAL ordinance of the race. Its sanctity and perpetuity are not based on the violence of the passion of love, but something else.”
He paused and listened to the call of the quail again from the field.
“You hear that bob white calling his mate?”
“Yes–and she’s answering him now very softly. I can hear them both.”
“They have mated this spring to build a home and rear a brood of young. Within six months their babies will all be full grown and next spring a new alignment of lovers will be made. Their marriage lasts during the period of infancy of their offspring. This is Nature’s law.
“It happens in the case of man that the period of infancy of a human being is about twenty-four years. This is the most wonderful fact in nature. It means that the capacity of man for the improvement of his breed is practically limitless. A quail has a few months in which to rear her young. God gives to woman a quarter of a century in which to mold her immortal offspring. Because the period of infancy of one child covers the entire period of motherhood capacity, marriage binds for life, and the sanctity of marriage rests squarely on this law of Nature.”
He paused again and looked over the sunlit valley.
“I wish our boys and girls could all know these simple truths of their being. It would save much unhappiness and many tragic blunders.
“You were swept completely off your feet by the rush of the first emotion caused by meeting a man who was your physical mate. You imagined this emotion to be a mysterious revelation which can come but once. Your imagination in its excited condition, of course, gave to your first-found mate all sorts of divine attributes which he did not possess. You were `in love’ with a puppet of your own creation, and hypnotized yourself into the delusion that James Anthony was your one and only mate, your knight, your hero.
“In a very important sense this was true. Your intuitions could not make a mistake on so vital an issue. But you immediately rushed into marriage and your union has been perfected by the birth of a child. Whether you are happy or unhappy in marriage does not depend on the reality of love. Happiness in marriage is based on something else.”
“On what?”
“The joy and peace that comes from oneness of spirit, tastes, culture and character. I know this from the deepest experiences of life and the widest observation.”
“You have loved?” she asked softly.
“Twice—-“
A silence fell between them.
“Shall I tell you, little mother?” he finally asked quietly.
“Please.”
He seated himself and looked into the skies beyond the peaks across the valley.
“Ten years ago I met my first mate. The meeting was fortunate for both. She was a woman of gentle birth, of beautiful spirit. Our courtship was ideal. We thought alike, we felt alike, she loved my profession even–an unusual trait in a woman. She thought it so noble in its aims that the petty jealousy that sometimes wrecks a doctor’s life was to her an unthinkable crime. The first year was the nearest to heaven that I had ever gotten down here.
“And then, little mother, by one of those inexplicable mysteries of nature she died when our baby was born. For a while the light of the world went out. I quit New York, gave up my profession and came here just to lie in the sun on this mountainside and try to pull myself together. I didn’t think life could ever be worth living again. But it was. I found about me so much of human need–so much ignorance and helplessness–so much to pity and love, I forgot the ache in my own heart in bringing joy to others.
“I had money enough. I gave up the ambitions of greed and strife and set my soul to higher tasks. For nine years I’ve devoted my leisure hours to the study of Motherhood as the hope of a nobler humanity. But for the great personal sorrow that came to me in the death of my wife and baby I should never have realized the truths I now see so clearly.
“And then the other woman suddenly came into my life. I never expected to love again–not because I thought it impossible, but because I thought it improbable in my little world here that I could ever again meet a woman I would ask to be my wife. But she dropped one day out of the sky.”
He paused and took a deep breath.
“I recognized her instantly as my mate, gentle and pure and capable of infinite joy or infinite pain. She did not realize the secret of my interest in her. I didn’t expect it. I knew that under the conditions she could not. But I waited.”
He paused and searched for Mary’s eyes.
“And you married her?” she asked in even tones.
“I have never allowed her to know that I love her.”
“Why?”
“She was married.”
Mary threw him a startled look and he went on evenly:
“I could have used my power over mind and body to separate her from her husband. I confess that I was tempted. But there was a child. Their union had been sealed with the strongest tie that can bind two human beings. I have never allowed her to realize that she might love me. Had I chosen to break the silence between us I could have revealed this to her, taken her and torn her from the man to whom she had borne a babe. I had no right to commit that crime, no matter how deep the love that cried for its own. Marriage is based on the period of infancy of the child which spans the maternal life of woman. God had joined these two people together and no man had the right to put them asunder!”
“And you gave her up?”
“I had to, little mother. On the recognition of this eternal law the whole structure of our civilization rests.”
Mary bent her gaze steadily on his face for a moment in silence.
“And you are telling me that I should be reconciled to the man who choked me into insensibility?”
“I am telling you that he is the father of your son–that he has rights which you cannot deny; that when you gave yourself to him in the first impulse of love a deed was done which Almighty God can never undo. Your tragic blunder was the rush into marriage with a man about whose character you knew so little. It’s the timid, shrinking, home-loving girl that makes this mistake. You must face it now. You are responsible as deeply and truly as the man who married you. That he happened at that moment to be a brute and a criminal is no more his fault than yours. It was YOUR business to KNOW before you made him the father of your child.”
“I tried to appeal to his better nature that awful night,” Mary interrupted, “but he only laughed at me!”
“You owe him another trial, little mother–you owe it to his boy, too.”
Mary shook her head bitterly.
“I can’t–I just can’t!”
“You won’t see him once?”
She sprang to her feet trembling.
“No–no!”
“I don’t think it’s fair.”
“I’m afraid of him! You can’t understand his power over my will.”
“Come, come, this is sheer cowardice–give the devil his dues. Face him and fight it out. Tell him you’re done forever with him and his life, if you will–but don’t hedge and trim and run away like this. I’m ashamed of you.”
“I won’t see him–I’ve made up my mind.”
The Doctor threw up both hands.
“All right. If you won’t, you won’t. We’ll let it go at that.”
He paused and changed his tones to friendly personal interest.
“And you’re determined to leave me and take my kid away tomorrow?”
“We must go. I’ve no money to pay my board. I can’t impose on you—-“
“It’s going to be awfully lonely.”
He looked at her with a strange, deep gaze, lifted his stooping shoulders with sudden resolution and changed his manner to light banter.
“I suppose I couldn’t persuade you to give me that boy?”
She smiled tenderly.
“You know his father did leave his mark on him after all! The eyes are all his. Of course, I will admit that those drooping lids have often been the mark of genius–perhaps a genius for evil in this case. If you don’t want to take the risk–now’s your chance. I will—-“
Mary shook her head in reproachful protest.
“Don’t tease me, dear doctor man. I’ve just this one day more with you. I’m counting each precious hour.”
“Forgive me!” he cried gayly. “I won’t tease you any more. Come, we’ll run over now and see our neighbor’s new bungalow before you go. You admire this one and threaten to duplicate it. He has built a better one.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You’ll go?”
“If you wish it—-“
“Good. We’ll take the boy, too. He can drive his new wagon the whole way. It’s only half a mile.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE NEW MAN
The door of the bungalow stood wide open. Mary paused in rapture over the rich beds of wood violets that carpeted the spaces between the drive and the log walls.
“Aren’t they beautiful!” she cried. “A perfect carpet of dazzling green and purple!”
“Come right in,” the Doctor urged from the steps. “My neighbor’s a patient of mine. He hasn’t moved in yet but he told me always to make myself at home.”
Mary lifted the boy from his wagon, tied the goat and led the child into the house. The Doctor showed her through without comment. None was needed. The woman’s keen eye saw at a glance the perfection of care with which the master builder had wrought the slightest detail of every room. The floors were immaculate native hard-wood–its grain brought out through shining mirrors of clean varnish. There was not one shoddy piece of work from the kitchen sink to the big open fireplace in the spacious hall and living-room.
“It’s exquisite!” she exclaimed at last. “It seems all hand-made–doesn’t it?”
“It is, too. The owner literally built it with his own hands–a work of love.”
“For himself?” Mary asked with a smile.
“For the woman he loves, of course! My neighbor’s a sort of crank and insisted on expressing himself in this way. Come, I want you to see two rooms upstairs.”
He led her into the room Jim had built for his wife.
“Observe this furniture, if you please.”
“Don’t tell me that he built that too?” she laughed.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to tell you.”
“Impossible!” she protested. “Why, the line and finish would do credit to the finest artisan in America.”
“So I say. Look at the perfect polish of that table! It’s like the finish of a rosewood piano.” He touched the smooth surface.
“Of course you’re joking?” Mary answered. “No amateur could have done such work.”
“So I’d have said if I had not seen him do it.”
“What on earth possessed him to undertake such a task?”
“The love of a beautiful woman–what else?”
“He learned a trade–just to furnish this room with his own hand?”
“Yes.”
“His love must be the real thing,” she mused.
“That’s what I’ve said. Look at this iron work, too–the stately andirons in that big fireplace, the shovel, the tongs, and the massive strop-hinges on the doors.”
“He did that, too?” she asked in amazement.
“Every piece of iron on the place he beat out with his own hand at his forge.”
“And all for the love of a woman? The age of romance hasn’t passed after all, has it?”
“No.”
Mary paused before the window looking south.
“What a glorious view!” she cried. “It’s even grander than yours, Doctor.”
“Yes. I claim some of the credit, though, for that. I helped him lay out the grounds.”
“Who is this remarkable man?” she asked at last.
“A friend of mine. I’ll introduce him directly. He should be here at any moment now.”
“We’re intruding,” Mary whispered. “We must go. I mustn’t look any more. I’ll be coveting my neighbor’s house.”
The doctor turned to the window and signaled to someone on the lawn, as Mary hurried down the stairs.
She fairly ran into Jim, who was being pulled into the house by the boy.
“‘Ook, Mamma! ‘Ook! I found a Daddy! He says he be my Daddy if you let him. Please let him. I want a Daddy, an’ I like him. Please!”
Jim blushed and trembled and lifted his eyes appealingly, while Mary stood white and still watching him in a sort of helpless terror.
The child moved on to his wagon.
“Say, little girl,” Jim began in low tones, “it’s been a thousand years since I saw you. Don’t drive me away–just give me one chance for God’s sake and this baby’s that He sent us! I’ve gone straight. I’ve sent back every dishonest dollar. I’m earning a clean living down here and a good one. I’ve practiced for two years cutting out the slang, too.”
He paused for breath and she turned her head away.
“Just listen a minute! I know I was a beast that night. I’m not the same now. I’ve been through the fires of hell and I’ve come out a cleaner man. Let me show you how much I love you! Life’s too short, but just give me a chance. If I could undo that awful hour when I hurt you so, I’d crawl ’round the world on my hands and knees–and I’ll show you that I mean it! I built this house for you and the baby.”
Mary turned suddenly with wide dilated eyes.
“You–YOU built this house?” she gasped.
“I’ve worked on it every hour, day and night, the past two years when I wasn’t earning a living in the mine. I made every stick of that furniture in the rooms up there–for you and my boy. The house is yours–whether you let me stay or not.”
“I–I can’t take it, Jim,” she faltered.
“You’ve got to, girlie. You can’t throw a gift like this back in a fellow’s face–it cost too much! Your money’s all gone. You’ve got to bring up that kid. He’s mine, too. I’m man enough to support my wife and baby and I’m going to do it. I don’t care what you say. You’ve got to let me. I’m going to work for you, live for you and die for you–whether you stay with me or not. I’ve got the right to do that, you know.”
She lifted her head and faced him squarely for the first time, amazed at the new dignity and strength of his quiet bearing.
“You HAVE changed, Jim—-“
Her eyes sought the depths of his soul in a moment’s silence, and she slowly extended her hand:
“We’ll try again!”
He bent and kissed the tips of her fingers reverently.
They stood for a moment hand in hand and looked over the sunlit valley of the Swannanoa shimmering in peace and beauty between its sheltering walls of blue mountains. The bees were humming spring music among the flowers at their feet and the faint odor of fruit trees in blossom came from the orchard Jim had planted two years before.
“I’ll show you, little girl–I’ll show you!” he whispered tensely.