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is quite so sentimental as a healthy old bachelor。 He pictured them
making unity from his confusions； in imagination heard the patter on
the stairs of tiny feet。 To all intents and purposes he would be a
grandfather。 Priding himself on his cunning； he kept his dream to
himself； as he thought； but under…estimated Ann's smartness。
For days together she would follow Matthew with her eyes； watching
him from behind her long lashes； listening in silence to everything
he said； vainly seeking to find points in him。 He was unaware of
her generous intentions。 He had a vague feeling he was being
criticised。 He resented it even in those days。
〃I do try；〃 said Ann suddenly one evening apropos of nothing at all。
〃No one will ever know how hard I try not to dislike him。〃
Abner looked up。
〃Sometimes；〃 continued Ann； 〃I tell myself I have almost succeeded。
And then he will go and do something that will bring it all on
again。〃
〃What does he do？〃 asked Abner。
〃Oh； I can't tell you；〃 confessed Ann。 〃If I told you it would
sound as if it was my fault。 It's all so silly。 And then he thinks
such a lot of himself。 If one only knew why！ He can't tell you
himself when you ask him。〃
〃You have asked him？〃 queried Abner。
〃I wanted to know；〃 explained Ann。 〃I thought there might be
something in him that I could like。〃
〃Why do you want to like him？〃 asked Abner； wondering how much she
had guessed。
〃I know；〃 wailed Ann。 〃You are hoping that when I am grown up I
shall marry him。 And I don't want to。 It's so ungrateful of me。〃
〃Well； you're not grown up yet；〃 Abner consoled her。 〃And so long
as you are feeling like that about it； I'm not likely to want you to
marry him。〃
〃It would make you so happy；〃 sobbed Ann。
〃Yes； but we've got to think of the boy； don't forget that；〃 laughed
Abner。 〃Perhaps he might object。〃
〃He would。 I know he would；〃 cried Ann with conviction。 〃He's no
better than I am。〃
〃Have you been asking him to？〃 demanded Abner； springing up from his
chair。
〃Not to marry me；〃 explained Ann。 〃But I told him he must be an
unnatural little beast not to try to like me when he knew how you
loved me。〃
〃Helpful way of putting it；〃 growled Abner。 〃And what did he say to
that？〃
〃Admitted it；〃 flashed Ann indignantly。 〃Said he had tried。〃
Abner succeeded in persuading her that the path of dignity and
virtue lay in her dismissing the whole subject from her mind。
He had made a mistake； so he told himself。 Age may be attracted by
contrast； but youth has no use for its opposite。 He would send
Matthew away。 He could return for week…ends。 Continually so close
to one another； they saw only one another's specks and flaws； there
is no beauty without perspective。 Matthew wanted the corners rubbed
off him； that was all。 Mixing more with men； his priggishness would
be laughed out of him。 Otherwise he was quite a decent youngster；
clean minded； high principled。 Clever； too： he often said quite
unexpected things。 With approaching womanhood； changes were taking
place in Ann。 Seeing her every day one hardly noticed them； but
there were times when； standing before him flushed from a walk or
bending over him to kiss him before starting for some friendly
dance； Abner would blink his eyes and be puzzled。 The thin arms
were growing round and firm； the sallow complexion warming into
olive； the once patchy； mouse…coloured hair darkening into a rich
harmony of brown。 The eyes beneath her level brows； that had always
been her charm； still reminded Abner of her mother； but there was
more light in them； more danger。
〃I'll run down to Albany and talk to Jephson about him；〃 decided
Abner。 〃He can come home on Saturdays。〃
The plot might have succeeded： one never can tell。 But a New York
blizzard put a stop to it。 The cars broke down； and Abner； walking
home in thin shoes from a meeting； caught a chill； which； being
neglected； proved fatal。
Abner was troubled as he lay upon his bed。 The children were
sitting very silent by the window。 He sent Matthew out on a
message； and then beckoned Ann to come to him。 He loved the boy；
too； but Ann was nearer to him。
〃You haven't thought any more；〃 he whispered； 〃about〃
〃No；〃 answered Ann。 〃You wished me not to。〃
〃You must never think；〃 he said； 〃to show your love for my memory by
doing anything that would not make you happy。 If I am anywhere
around；〃 he continued with a smile； 〃it will be your good I shall be
watching for； not my own way。 You will remember that？〃
He had meant to do more for them； but the end had come so much
sooner than he had expected。 To Ann he left the house （Mrs。 Travers
had already retired on a small pension） and a sum that； judiciously
invested； the friend and attorney thought should be sufficient for
her needs； even supposingThe friend and attorney； pausing to dwell
upon the oval face with its dark eyes； left the sentence unfinished。
To Matthew he wrote a loving letter； enclosing a thousand dollars。
He knew that Matthew； now in a position to earn his living as a
journalist； would rather have taken nothing。 It was to be looked
upon merely as a parting gift。 Matthew decided to spend it on
travel。 It would fit him the better for his journalistic career； so
he explained to Ann。 But in his heart he had other ambitions。 It
would enable him to put them to the test。
So there came an evening when Ann stood waving a handkerchief as a
great liner cast its moorings。 She watched it till its lights grew
dim； and then returned to West Twentieth Street。 Strangers would
take possession of it on the morrow。 Ann had her supper in the
kitchen in company with the nurse； who had stayed on at her request；
and that night； slipping noiselessly from her room； she lay upon the
floor； her head resting against the arm of the chair where Abner had
been wont to sit and smoke his evening pipe； somehow it seemed to
comfort her。 And Matthew the while； beneath the stars； was pacing
the silent deck of the great liner and planning out the future。
To only one other being had he ever confided his dreams。 She lay in
the churchyard； and there was nothing left to encourage him but his
own heart。 But he had no doubts。 He would be a great writer。 His
two hundred pounds would support him till he had gained a foothold。
After that he would climb swiftly。 He had done right； so he told
himself； to turn his back on journalism： the grave of literature。
He would see men and cities； writing as he went。 Looking back；
years later； he was able to congratulate himself on having chosen
the right road。 He thought it would lead him by easy ascent to fame
and fortune。 It did better for him than that。 It led him through
poverty and loneliness； through hope deferred and heartachethrough
long nights of fear； when pride and confidence fell upon him；
leaving him only the courage to endure。
His great poems； his brilliant essays； had been rejected so often
that even he himself had lost all love for them。 At the suggestion
of an editor more kindly than the general run； and urged by need； he
had written some short pieces of a less ambitious nature。 It was in
bitter disappointment he commenced them； regarding them as mere
pot…boilers。 He would not give them his name。 He signed them
〃Aston Rowant。〃 It was the name of the village in Oxfordshire where
he had been born。 It occurred to him by chance。 It would serve the
purpose as well as another。 As the work progressed it grew upon
him。 He made his stories out of incidents and people he had seen；
everyday comedies and tragedies that he had lived among； of things
that he had felt； and when after their appearance in the magazine a
publisher was found willing to make them into a book； hope revived
in him。
It was but short…lived。 The few reviews that reached him contained
nothing but ridicule。 So he had no place even as a literary hack！
He was living in Paris at the time in a noisy； evil…smelling street
leading out of the Quai Saint…Michel。 He thought of Chatterton； and
would loaf on the bridges looking down into the river where the
drowned lights twinkled。
And then one day there came to him a letter； sent on to him from the
publisher of his one book。 It was signed 〃Sylvia；〃 nothing else；
and bore no address。 Matthew picked up the envelope。 The postmark
was 〃London； S。E。〃
It was a childish letter。 A prosperous； well…fed genius； familiar
with such； might have smiled at it。 To Matthew in his despair it
brought healing。 She had found the book lying in an empty railway
carriage； and undeterred by moral scruples had taken it home with
her。 It had remained forgotten for a time； until when the end
really seemed to have come her hand by chance had fallen on it。 She
fancied some kind little wandering spiritthe spirit perhaps of
someone who had known what it was to be lonely and very sad and just
about broken almostmust have manoeuvred the whole thing。 It had
seemed to her as though some strong and gentle hand had been laid
upon her in the darkness。 She no longer felt friendless。 And so
on。
The book； he remembered； contained a reference to the magazine in
which the ske