"_We are to be married in April, and Jack has taken the Villa G.o.dilombra in Settignano for the season. We expect to arrive there early in May, and we want you to come to us for just as long a visit as you can arrange. You won't disappoint me, will you, dear Uncle Peabody? We all have been broken-hearted that you have so long delayed your return, and one of the events in our plans for Florence to which I am looking forward with the greatest eagerness is this visit with you. Write and tell me how your work progresses, but don't say 'I told you so.' This would show that you really expected it all the time, and your favorite argument would lose its force. Just say that you will come to us at Settignano._"

The letter itself showed that Helen had changed much during the months which had elapsed since he had last seen her. There was a more serious undertone and a broader outlook,--due undoubtedly to Armstrong's influence. Uncle Peabody wondered whether Helen could have been attracted to this man by her admiration for his mental strength rather than by any real sentiment, perhaps mistaking the one for the other.

This was the point he wished to settle in his own mind, and this was why he had studied them both, from the moment of his arrival, much more carefully than either one of them realized.

Armstrong was a remarkable man, as Helen had said. Even in the few hours he had known him, Uncle Peabody found much to admire. It was true that his manner toward Helen showed indulgence, almost as to a child rather than to a wife; but his devotion was entirely obvious, and this relation was to be expected after reading Helen's letter. Still, Mr. Cartwright told himself, the existence of this relation necessitated a certain readjustment before a perfection of united interests could be attained.

Armstrong was bound to be the dominating force, and Helen must inevitably respond to this new influence, strange as it now seemed to her. His knowledge of her sympathetic and intuitive grasp of his own pet theories gave him confidence to believe that this response would be equally prompt and comprehensive.

Henry Peabody Cartwright was distinctly a citizen of the world. Boston had been his birthplace, Boston had been the base of his eminently successful business operations, and his name still figured in the list of the city's "largest taxpayers." Beyond this, the city of his early activity had, during the past twenty years, seen him only as a visitor at periodic intervals. He had emerged from his commercial environment at the age of forty, with a firm determination to gratify his ideals.

Fortunately for him, and for mankind as well, his ideals were not fully crystallized when he set out to gratify them. Boston was entirely satisfactory to him as an abiding-place, but he felt a leaven at work within him which demanded a larger arena than even the outlying territory of Greater Boston covered. He started, therefore, in the late eighties for a trip around the world, with the definite purpose, as he himself announced, of "giving things a chance to happen to him."

"I have no schedule and no plans," he said to those who questioned him.

"I shall 'hitch my wagon to a star,' but always with my grip near at hand, so that I may change stars upon a moment's notice."

There were no immediate family ties to interfere with the carrying-out of what seemed to his friends to be rather quixotic ideas. There may have been some youthful romance, but, if so, no one ever succeeded in learning anything of it from him.

"It is all perfectly simple," he once good-naturedly replied to a persistent relative. "The girls I was willing to marry would not have me, and those who would have me I was not willing to marry. I used to think that I would become more attractive as I grew older, but I have given up that idea now. Once I tried to rub a freckle off with sand-paper and pumice-stone and found blood under the skin; but the freckle--the same old freckle--is there to this day."

His devotion to women in the composite was consistent and sincere; the fondness which existed between himself and his brother's family was such that his departure had left a distinct void, and his visits home were events circled with red ink in the family calendar. He enjoyed these visits no less than they; but with never more than a day or two of warning he would announce his intention of leaving for Egypt or India or some spot more or less remote in his quest for the unexpected. To the reproaches which were levelled at him, he replied, with a smile which defied controversy:

"I am just as sorry not to be with you all as you can possibly be to have me away; but I have educated myself to the separation, and have thus overcome the necessity for personal propinquity."

On that first trip around the world Uncle Peabody found one of his ideals, although he did not realize its vast importance until several years later. j.a.pan appealed to him, and the longer he remained there the more impressed he became with certain of the national characteristics.

First of all, he marvelled at the evenness of temper which the people displayed, at their endurance, their patience. He watched the carefulness with which they weighed the importance of each problem before accepting its responsibility, and their utter abandon in carrying it through when once undertaken. This was twenty years before the Russo-j.a.panese war, and he had come among them with the existing Occidental estimate of their paganism and barbarity. It may have been a species of incredulity leading to curiosity which induced him to remain among them, but as a result of his sojourn he discovered that they were philosophers rather than fatalists, geniuses rather than barbarians.

He questioned his new hosts, when he came to know them better, and was told quite seriously and quite naturally that they never became angry, because anger produced poison in the system and r.e.t.a.r.ded digestion; that upon digestion depended health; that upon health depended happiness, and upon happiness depended personal efficiency and life itself. They explained that forethought was one of the cardinal factors of their creed, but added that its ant.i.thesis, fear-thought, was equally important as an element to be eliminated. They called his attention to the fact that they did not live upon what they ate, but upon what they digested, and that by masticating their food more thoroughly than he did they secured from the smaller quant.i.ty the same amount of nourishment without needlessly overloading their systems with undigested food which could not possibly be a.s.similated.

This last theory did not altogether appeal to Peabody Cartwright at first. His friends at the Somerset Club still held memories of his epicurean proclivities, and they were not weary even yet of recalling the time when he had won a goodly wager by naming, blindfolded, five different vintages of Burgundy and Bordeaux. But the more he thought it over the more convinced he became that the something to which he had promised to give a chance had really happened to him. He pondered, he experimented--but he still continued to eat larger quant.i.ties of food than the j.a.panese.

A year later he was in Italy, and in Venice Mr. Cartwright suddenly discovered that he had found the geographical centre of the civilized world. With Venice as the starting-point, one could reach London or Constantinople, St. Petersburg or New York, with equal exertion. Venice, therefore, became his adopted home, although it could claim no more of his presence than any one of a dozen other cities in the four quarters of the globe. During the twenty years, he had succeeded in making himself a part of each one--had become a veritable citizen of the world, but by no means a man without a country.

Italy served to drive home the truths which j.a.pan had first shown him.

Three years after his experience there, a dingy, second-hand book-store in Florence had placed him in possession of Luigi Cornaro's _Discorsi della Vita Sobria_. He read it with amazement. Here in his hand, written by a Venetian n.o.bleman more than three hundred years before, at the age of eighty-three, was the text-book of the theories of life which he had accepted from the j.a.panese as new and untried except among this alien people! It gave him a start, and he journeyed to Turin, Berne, Berlin, Brussels, Paris, London, St. Petersburg, and even back to Boston, seeking to interest the famous physiologists in his discovery, which he believed was destined to exterminate disease and to transform those practising the medical profession into hygienic engineers.

Mr. Cartwright's name and personality preserved him from a sanitarium, but his theories as to self-control, forethought, and fear-thought received ample opportunity for personal experiment. He was as tenacious as if his future depended upon the outcome. A good-natured indulgence here, and an incredulous sympathy there, gave him his first opportunities for demonstration. He not only drew upon his fortune, but freely contributed himself as a subject for experiment. It had been slow, but he had learned patience from the j.a.panese. Disbelief gradually changed into doubt, doubt into question, question into half-belief, and half-belief into conviction. Quietly, surely, his own faith was a.s.similated by those high in the physiological ranks, and almost against their will, and before they realized the importance of their concessions, he had forced them to prove him right by their own a.n.a.lyses.

The last five years had been a steady triumph. He had found his ideals, but he had not attained them. He knew what his life-work was, and had the gratification of counting among his friends and collaborators the highest authorities the world recognized. The habits of generations could not be changed in a moment--some of them could never be changed; but the ball had been started and was gaining in size with each revolution. It no longer needed his gentle, persuasive push; it had its own momentum now, and he found it only necessary to guide its advance and to watch its growth.

Uncle Peabody's thoughts reverted to his work as he folded Helen's letter and placed it again in his pocket, where he had so long carried it. He regretted having his labors interrupted just now, but he found himself keenly interested to watch Helen's approaching evolution. His wagon was firmly hitched to this new star, and he had no notion of changing stars. So, with a murmured "Bless you, my children. May you live forever, and may I come to your funeral," he sought the repose which the others had already found.

IV

Mary and Bertha Sinclair were just completing a year's study in Florence, upon which they were depending to perfect their musical education; but both girls were sufficiently homesick after their two years' absence from Boston to be more than eager to exchange their _pension_ for a week's visit with Helen, who brought to them a fresh budget of home news,--for which their eagerness increased as the date for their return to America drew nearer. Emory and Eustis, too, added familiar faces, so the days following the first dinner at the villa proved to be full of interest and enjoyment to all concerned.

The guests became familiar with each portion of the house and grounds, the mysteries of Italian house-keeping were contrasted with the limitations of boarding, and numerous topics of common import succeeded each other without surcease.

During the morning following the arrival of the guests, Armstrong touched tentatively upon the subject of visiting the library.

"We went there when we first came to Florence," Mary Sinclair replied; "and we saw everything there was."

Armstrong smiled indulgently, thinking of the little they had really seen.

"You know we are not very literary," explained Bertha, catching the expression upon his face.

"They are really more hopeless cases even than I," Helen added, sympathetically.

"Why don't you try Phil and me?" inquired Emory. "We went through the Vatican library, so we are experts. At least they said it was a library.

The only books we saw there were a few in show-cases--the rest they kept out of sight."

"You would not recognize a real book if you saw it, Emory," Armstrong replied, with resignation. "There is no hurry. Perhaps Miss Thayer will go with me some day soon."

"Indeed I will," Inez responded, with enthusiasm. "There is nothing I wish so much to do."

"Good." His appreciation was sincere. "I shall take real delight in introducing to you my old-time friends, with whom I often differ but, never quarrel."

"Are they so real to you as that?" Inez asked, impressed by his tone.

"They are indeed," Armstrong replied, seriously. "I visit and talk with them just as I would with you all. But they have an aggravating advantage over me, for, no matter how laboriously I argue with them, their original statement stands unmoved there upon the written page, as if enjoying my feeble effort to disturb its serenity, and defying me to do my worst."

"I would much prefer to give them an absent treatment," a.s.serted Eustis.

"Inez is clearly the psychological subject," Helen added. "At school she was forever putting us girls to shame by her mortifying familiarity with the cla.s.sics. It is only fair that she should now be paid in her own coin."

"I accept both the invitation and the challenge," replied Inez, bowing to her hostess, and, walking over to the low wall on which Helen had seated herself, she threw her arm affectionately about her neck. "But you must not embarra.s.s me with such praise, or your husband will suffer a keen disappointment. To study Latin and Greek out of school-books is one thing; to meet face to face the personalities one has regarded as divinities--even reading their very handwriting--is another. It makes one wonder if she ever did know anything about them before."

"That is exactly the spirit in which to approach the shrine, Miss Thayer!" cried Armstrong, enthusiastically. "Let us frame a new beat.i.tude: 'Blessed is she who appreciates the glories of antiquity, for she shall inherit the riches of the past.'"

The contrast of the two girls in the rich Italian morning light was so striking that Uncle Peabody paused in his approach after a successful attack upon the rose-bushes, touched Armstrong upon the shoulder, and nodded admiringly in their direction. They were separated a little from the others, and were busily engaged in a conversation of their own, in which no man hath a part, quite oblivious to the attention they attracted. Inez was standing, and, even though seated, Helen's superb head reached quite to her companion's shoulder, and the fair hair and complexion were clearly defined against the darker hue of the face and head bent down to meet her own. Her eyes, looking out into the distance even as she spoke, reflected the calm, satisfied contentment of the moment, while in the brown depths of the other's one could read an ungratified ambition, an uncertainty not yet explained. Inez Thayer's face was attractive, Helen's was beautiful--that beauty which one feels belongs naturally to the person possessing it without the necessity of a.n.a.lysis.

Armstrong was evidently pleased with this comparison, as he had been with all previous ones. Italy, it seemed to him, formed just the background to set off to best advantage his wife's personal attractions.

Uncle Peabody smiled contentedly at the undisguised satisfaction which was so clearly indicated in the younger man's face.

"If there had been any girls in Boston who looked like that when I was of sparking age," he whispered to Armstrong, "I should certainly have married and settled down, as I ought to have done."

"And allowed the world to perish of indigestion?" queried Armstrong, smiling.

"Scoffer! you do not deserve your good-fortune. Come, these roses are becoming all thorns. Young ladies, may I intrude upon your _tete-a-tete_ long enough to present you with the trophies of my after-breakfast hunt?"

"A thousand apologies, Uncle," cried Helen, taking the roses in her arms and burying her face in their fragrant petals. "Oh! how beautiful! And how idiotic ever to leave this Garden of Paradise and immure yourselves within that musty old library. Do you not repent?"

"I place the decision wholly in Miss Thayer's hands," said Armstrong; but he glanced at Inez with evident expectancy.

"Then I decide to go," replied the girl. "I am quite impatient to meet the friends in whose good company Mr. Armstrong revelled before his present reincarnation."