My Heart Laid Bare Part 11

Of course, Muirkirk observers must have gossiped. There must have been cruel, outraged speculation. There must have been coa.r.s.e jokes, at least initially, before Abraham Licht became well known and well liked in the region. Whenever the children appeared together-Thurston in particular so fair-haired, so handsome a boy, in stark contrast to the swarthy-skinned, woolly-haired Elisha-you could depend upon it, people would stare. "For h.o.m.o sapiens is by genetic inheritance xenophobic," Abraham Licht explained to his family, "-I would not doubt that there is, in the brain, some tiny cog that triggers 'fear'-'distrust'-'loathing'-'threat'-upon seeing another whose features and skin color seem foreign. So we must accept the foibles of others, who are our enemies in any case; but it would be well for us to contemplate how such foibles might be pressed to our advantage, rather than attempt to overcome them. All we need to know is, We are Lichts. Out of Muirkirk mud, a lineage to conquer Heaven."

The white-skinned children of Abraham Licht didn't require such wisdom from their father to feel affection for Elisha, or 'Lisha as he was called. For of all of them, 'Lisha was sweet, funny, and sly; a natural mimic, clearly bound for the stage or for public oratory of some kind; a "wily little Devil" as Katrina (who rarely indulged in such commentary on her charges) said; the smartest of the boys; hot-tempered, and quick to repent; quick to burst into tears, and quick to wipe away his tears and smile; a congenial household presence as "Little Moses," and a good deal more intelligent. Also, it was always the case that Abraham Licht, as Father, determined how his progeny should think and feel and, to a degree, behave; and "feelings" not granted a vocabulary by him had not much existence, or at any rate could not be expressed. Abraham explained this simple psychology to his bride Morna, who laughed at its logic-"Why, if we had no word for sorrow, melancholy, wickedness, evil, would these not exist?" Abraham merely smiled, and laid his finger alongside his nose. To adore a woman is not to respect her intelligence. To find a woman infinitely desirable, we need not lay bare our souls to her.

Upon one memorable occasion, eight-year-old Harwood inquired frowningly of Katrina why 'Lisha, then six, was "dark-skinned like mahogany" and his hair "so fuzzy-strange," and the insides of his hands "pinker than mine"; but Harwood's childish questioning carried no evident suspicion or rancor, and Katrina's reply, much repeated in the household, seemed to satisfy him completely: "Because Father wishes him so."

Elisha himself, sly Elisha, thought well enough of 'Lisha, and "Little Moses," or any of the black boys of Abraham Licht's creation, to have no fear that he was inferior-not him! Nor even set aside from the others by any peculiarity of being. He loved to contemplate his image in any mirror: for was he not handsome with his tight-curled, glistening hair trimmed close to his skull, or allowed from time to time to fuzz out splendidly, like dandelion seed; and his wide-set dark eyes, liquid-bright, and flecked with hazel like glints of mischief; and his slightly flat nose, and deep, dark nostrils, and chiselled lip? When 'Lisha was lazy, it seemed ideal to be lazy; when he leapt and pranced about, and kicked up (as Katrina fondly scolded) a "ruckus," then that seemed ideal. If Father was at home Father closely observed whatever 'Lisha did, took note of whatever he said, as, indeed, Father was inclined to do with all the children, not to censure or scold, but, it seemed, simply to observe: that he might, perhaps, discover where Elisha's best talents lay, and which traits in him were weak. ("You are the chameleon of the household," Father declared, laughing, "-and so very quick, one would not be surprised to see you slip out of that skin, and into another.") It might have distressed Elisha that his brothers, and, in time, his pretty sister Millie, were sent away to expensive private schools (at least intermittently: for Abraham Licht's fortunes continued to rise and fall with less predictability than the moon's tide), while he was kept at home; but, as Father chose to tutor him himself, in such subjects as French conversation, and mathematics, and Shakespeare, and the manners of a gentleman, and declared him his "right-hand man," even at so young an age, Elisha could not forbear feeling pride, if not outright vanity: for he sensed himself-indeed, did he not know himself?-Father's favorite. "You are all loved equally, as you are all deserving of the same degree of love," Father sometimes said, staring, with a kind of wonderment, at his children, and approaching them each in turn, to kiss them, or embrace them to his bosom, "-for it is the irrefutable truth, you are all marvels." Such declarations had the effect of fairly mesmerizing the children, and bringing tears to their eyes; for they had no doubt but that Father spoke the truth; for that which Father spoke-was it not Truth? Yet, afterward, regarding his reflection in a mirror, or even, hazily, in a pool of marsh water, Elisha murmured aloud in elation, "He loves us all equally-and 'Lisha most of all!"

Nor was he jealous when Darian was born, and then, not long afterward, Esther-these little ones, Sophie's children, being so very little, it was hardly reasonable to think that Father would ever care to love them; or even to observe them with much interest.

WHEN FATHER WAS away on business that did not involve him, and Elisha was left behind in Muirkirk, he hid his disappointment and impatience, and set about completing tasks a.s.signed by Father: for instance, studying the latest edition of The Young Christian Gentleman's Guide to Perfect Etiquette so very meticulously, he could pa.s.s a quiz on the correct employment of visiting cards, and every manner of fork, spoon, and knife, to be encountered at a formal dinner party, and how precisely one must behave when presented to Royalty; he learned to sing, from memory, a Bach cantata, "Brich dem Hungrigen dein Brot," which Father had a.s.signed for mysterious, yet urgent, reasons; and he learned to recite, in faultless French, an exquisite poem about angels by a poet name Rilke. It fell to Elisha, for the most part, to do an inventory of the various items stored in the church, which, someday, Father hoped to sell at auction; these mismatched items of furniture, artwork, clothing, musical instruments, etc., being articles "in lieu of cash settlements," given to Abraham Licht by his debtors. And, though unbidden to do so, he spent a strenuous morning cleaning the hickory cross of cobwebs and grime, and polishing it to a high sheen, in which his own adolescent face (might he have been about fourteen at the time?) was reflected, with a ghostly sort of beauty. As to the human figure nailed to the cross-made of pewter rather than wood, it could not be salvaged, but had become so badly tarnished by the pa.s.sage of time, it might well have represented a personage as black as Elisha himself-!

Of the "Savior, Jesus Christ," Elisha knew only what Father had told him and the other children: that, like "G.o.d, the Father," and any number of fraudulent deities throughout history, this "Savior" was nothing but an inspired lie told by crafty men to their simple-minded brethren, that they might cheat them of the pleasures of this world, in exchange for the pleasures of the next. Elisha had been puzzled by the notion of a next world: was it next in time, he asked Father, or next in s.p.a.ce, many thousands of miles away? Amused by the boy's question, Abraham Licht laughed heartily; but pondered awhile; and finally said that what the majority of men meant by any of their ludicrous beliefs and fancies, he did not know, and could not care. "For, Elisha, it is only the meaning we Lichts a.s.sign," he said, "that has merit for us." Elisha had felt the rightness of the answer; yet, one day not long after, studying the contorted pewter figure closely, and peering at its corroded face, Elisha felt a curious tug of pity for the "Savior," and sympathy. For if "Jesus Christ" had been a lie these many centuries, had He ever known it Himself?-had the terrible truth ever been revealed to Him?

Left happily to his own devices, Elisha learned to play a drumroll; and taught himself simple melodies on the piano; and read voraciously, hour upon hour, in haphazard volumes of the Encyclopedia Britanica, A History of the Penal Code in the United States, The Art of Mesmerism, Poor Richard's Almanack, Home Cures & Emetics, Selected Sermons of Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, P. T. Barnum's Ill.u.s.trated News of 18771881, etc.; he outfitted himself in splendid silk-lined evening capes, and ruffled shirts, and brocaded vests, and top hats, and even certain articles of women's clothing-organdy gowns, swans'-feather boas, fox-pieces, turbans-that set off his glowing mahogany skin to great advantage, and brought out a subdued l.u.s.tre in his eyes. The door to the rectory shut tight against any unwanted intrusion, Elisha whiled away many an afternoon in languid contemplation of his own exotic image; or danced about-kicking up his heels, flinging his arms about, learning to leap from a stationary position, even to "fly" through the air as if weightless! So agile did Elisha become at these secret times, so possessed by an unknown Spirit of elation, bravado, and cunning, he laughed aloud, to think of what he might do, one day, to Father's great approval, in that world of contemptible enemies that surrounded them.

The tragedy that befell Thurston struck nearly as deep in Elisha as it did in Abraham Licht himself: for of all the persons in the world, after Father, it had always been his eldest brother whom Elisha most admired and loved.

Not that Thurston was especially quick-witted or inventive (for Millie was sharper-indeed, nearly as sharp as Elisha himself); and not because Thurston was so remarkably attractive a youth, causing, at times, heads to turn in the street (for Elisha was confident that he was more striking); but rather, because Thurston maintained so placid a temper, and seemed so artlessly to inhabit his skin, not minding a defeat now and then, and not overly glorying in his successes, as Elisha was inclined. (Ah, Elisha!-as he pa.s.sed into adolescence, and then into young manhood, it became ever more difficult for him to predict a mood of his own, from one hour to the next, unless of course he was under Father's guidance. Successes like that of the "Black Phantom of Chautauqua" he positively revelled in; defeats wounded him to the quick, and haunted him for months, though, as Father consoled them all, "Failure is but a crafty rehearsal of Success: have faith!") When, one somber midsummer evening, Father at last summoned Elisha to his room to inform him of Thurston's arrest in Atlantic City, the capital charges brought against him, etc., Elisha could not at first believe what he heard; felt the blood drain rapidly away from his head, and the strength from his legs; he knelt before Father, clasping his hands like a small child, and begging to be allowed to help-for surely he might be of special aid in saving his brother?

But for the first time in memory Abraham Licht seemed to have no ready reply, and to be as much in need of comforting as Elisha himself.

"Yes, surely-you will help us with Thurston-he will be saved-he cannot not be saved, as he is my son-we will do it, somehow-we will free him," Father said, in a voice that, to Elisha's surprise, faltered. "I know not how, precisely, at the moment-but we will do it: we must."

ELISHA FANTASIZES, THESE sleepless nights, an extravagant drama in which he (alone? or leading a contingent of armed men?) rescues his eldest brother from the gallows: so terrorizing the armed guards, and the gawking populace, that not a hand is raised against them; and within the s.p.a.ce of a few minutes Thurston is freed-riding away on a fiery stamping snorting stallion.

Yet another fantasy, of heart-quickening poignancy: Elisha sacrifices himself for Thurston: stepping between Thurston and a bullet meant to kill him: with the consequence that Father, and sweet Millie, and all the world, indeed, celebrate his courage.

That such astonishing dramas might be performed, raises hope in the heart of the "Black Phantom" that they can be performed.

Less extravagantly, but more reasonably, Thurston might well be freed from prison beforehand, following one or another of the provisional sketches Father has drawn up; these plans involving an escape by tunnel, or over the wall; and necessitating the cooperation (which is to say, the paid cooperation) of various guards, fellow prisoners, perhaps the prison physician, perhaps (if Abraham Licht's money is not too severely depleted by this time) the warden himself. "For men have been escaping from prison as long as there have been prisons," Father has pointed out with faultless logic.

Yet further, Father has broached the subject of a certain herbal medicine, or drug-derived from a species of marsh nightshade (Circaea quadrisulcata) with which Katrina is said to be familiar. So potent is marsh, or enchanter's, nightshade, a single dram will cause a full-grown man to fall down in a stupor; and, for a period of twelve hours or more, to so mimic death, no heartbeat can be detected, nor any breath, or bodily warmth. The primary danger of the drug, Elisha gathers, is that it might also cause death, if administered to a man in ill health . . . and that, as Katrina has warned, the precise dosage required for the trance, and not Death, is difficult to calibrate.

"Perhaps Father might experiment with the dosage, using 'Little Moses' as a subject," Elisha thought uneasily.

But, whether out of prudence or simple forgetfulness, he was never to pursue the notion further.

THIRTEEN YEARS BEFORE, Thurston had saved his life.

Taking advantage of Father's absence from Muirkirk, the three boys-Thurston, Harwood, and Elisha (seven years old at the time)-went exploring in an area of the great marsh unknown to them; crossing into the dense interior by way of a ridge of earth that formed a natural bridge, wildly overgrown with vines and suckers; and making their way forward with extreme difficulty. Asked where they were headed, and why, they could have supplied no answer: only that Thurston had felt idle and restless at home, and Harwood was in the habit of following Thurston about; and little Elisha had pleaded to be taken along.

Once in the swamp, however, Elisha soon outdistanced his brothers, being so much smaller than they, and wiry and clever as a monkey; and gripped with a sudden fever, that he might go where he would, no matter that Thurston called worriedly after him.

"Let them catch up with me, if they can," he thought, "it is only 'Little Moses' after all!"

Unsurprisingly, the reckless child was lost within a half hour, and had not the faintest idea of where he was; whether he was still pushing forward, or had turned about in a circle. His face and hands were reddened with insect bites, he was wet past the knee, and stinking of swamp mud; his breath was ragged and sharp.

How strange, and how terrifying, to be, so suddenly, alone.

As if Father had never s.n.a.t.c.hed him up from the flood, and saved him, and brought him home . . .

By now he could no longer hear Thurston's voice, and was too stubborn, or too ashamed, to shout for help. On all sides a pale luminous whitely glowering mist hung low, smelling of chill stagnant water and animal decay; nothing looked familiar; yet he half ran, stumbled to his knees, rose, and ran further, in another direction, instructing himself that this was the way back, and that he would be in sight of the church tower shortly.

Though, earlier that day, the temperature had been warm and the air mild, now it seemed that, far overhead, the tops of the marsh trees were shaken by fierce gusts of wind, that rose out of nowhere, and quickly subsided. What was it that splashed in the water close by? . . . or, spreading its wings, flew violently upward, crashing through the sinewy vines? . . . Elisha's heart leapt in his breast as he saw a female figure drifting ahead (but it was only the mist, forming and dissolving) . . . and heard faint ripplings of laughter. A gigantic b.u.t.terfly floated near, or was it an immense lily? . . . covered, it seemed, in bright-glaring eyes, eyes very like his own, focused sharply upon him.

He shouted for help, running and staggering.

He shouted for Thurston-Thurston!-until his throat was raw.

Now he was ravenous with hunger, and so thirsty his mouth ached. He had been gone from the rectory-from home-for hours; for days; he would never get back safely; they would tell Father that he had wandered off into the swamp, that he had run away, and Father would say, Then he is no son of mine any longer . . . .A cloud of mosquitoes surrounded Elisha, sucking blood from his face and throat, his exposed arms, if he did not energetically brush them away. To elude them he must run, run, yet he was exhausted and could not run, and so hungry, he found himself desperately plucking at berries . . . tiny white berries, shrivelled, and bitter to the taste . . . and then, by chance, to his delight, a curious plumlike fruit that grew from a gnarled tree resembling a wisteria . . . he bit into it hungrily . . . as delicious a fruit as he had ever tasted . . . though very curious: being the size of an apple, but heavy, and pulpy, and unusually juicy, of the color of dusky purple grapes, so richly dark as to seem black.

Poor Elisha!-he could not stop himself from devouring the fruit in ravenous mouthfuls, the juice hot and stinging down his chin; until, with no warning, the back of his mouth burst into flame-and his throat closed up tight-and he choked, and gasped for air-gagging, and retching, and throwing himself frantically about, until- "'LISHA! THERE YOU are."

He was being nudged awake. Tenderly lifted. His tall fair brother Thurston had discovered him, saved him. Yet with no word of reproach or chiding, still less anger. Thurston, freely perspiring, short of breath, holding him in his strong arms, bringing him back to firm ground and safety.

And Elisha grasped his brother tight around the neck, and wept in grat.i.tude, exhaustion, belated terror. For Thurston was his elder brother who loved him, and would always love him. (If this poor wretched creature stinking of swamp muck, eyes swollen nearly shut from insect bites, skin abraded and bleeding, was in fact Elisha and not a changeling.) Elisha surrendered all pride and clung tightly to his brother as if he were a small child, lacking all strength, volition and self-definition. O Thurston!-one day I will do as much for you.

And there is Millicent.

Beautiful Millie, his sister.

Of whom, these troubled days, Elisha cannot allow himself to think; nor remain in a room with for very long, especially if they happen to be alone together.

"GAILY THROUGH LIFE I WANDER"

Millicent Licht breaks hearts but it is not her fault, if hearts there are, in plenty, to be broken.

And so many very silly people in the world!

Her schoolgirl cla.s.smates have always adored her, at the Husebye School in Albany, at Miss Metcalf's in Hartford, at the Lake Champlain Academy for Young Christian Ladies, they court her, shyly, aggressively, they compete for her fickle attention, leave little gifts for her in secret, for Millicent Licht is the prettiest of the lot, and Millicent Licht is by far the most clever (as even the schoolmistresses are forced to agree): and those who have been fortunate enough to meet Mr. Licht, and to exchange a few words with him-how impressed they are! (For, set beside their own fathers, is not Millicent's father a paragon of manhood, indeed? And so very solicitous of them.) Some particularly privileged girls have even been shown photographs of Millicent's elder brother Thurston, with the vague smiling hint . . . the merest whispered murmured soupon of a hint . . . that one day, perhaps, they might meet. (One fifth-form girl, who had formed an especially pa.s.sionate attachment to Millicent, declared, looking from Thurston's photograph to Millicent, and back again: "Why, he is your equal in beauty!-you are Greek G.o.ds!" And Millicent, smiling but faintly, and showing none of the amused contempt she surely felt, said quietly: "Please!-it is all we have to do, being mortal.") It has sometimes been whispered of Millicent Licht that she breaks hearts because she is cruel, and wanton, and selfish, and manipulative, and because she delights in hurting (did she not laugh when told that little Edie Saxon tried to drown herself one rainy March night, after being snubbed by her?-or that, just last year, at the Champlain school, both her roommates lied to save her from expulsion in a matter of suspected cheating on a French examination, and were themselves expelled and sent home in disgrace?); but the truth is simply that she forgets; forgets their existence from one hour to the next; as if it's a matter of vague astonishment to her that creatures so silly and childish do exist from one hour to the next.

"And they take themselves so seriously," Millicent marveled to herself, "as if their little griefs and jealousies and heartbreaks are a matter of cosmic concern. As if I am to blame for their being 'hurt' over my inability to return their affections."

Indeed, how could blame be laid on Millicent Licht's comely head, that in pressing unsought gifts upon her, certain of her cla.s.smates should be wounded to the heart that Millie might politely accept the gifts but decline the offer of friendship?-that they should mistake vague murmured promises for actual vows?-as if Millicent Licht had nothing more important to do than remember such childish transactions from one day to the next.

So it seemed she often found herself uttering the identical words, like a Broadway ingenue in a popular, long-running play, with innocent widened eyes and an expression of startled compa.s.sion on her porcelain-doll's face, "Why, whatever do you mean?-what on earth is wrong? Please don't cry!" while trying not to laugh in angry ridicule that some silly girl should presume to shed tears in her presence, and attribute them to her. The most upsetting incident took place during Millie's second year at Miss Metcalf's when a thirteen-year-old girl in the form below hers, a granddaughter of Andrew Carnegie, tried to slash her wrist with a dull penknife when Millie inadvertently snubbed her at chapel. There was much fuss and flurry and scandal, the hysterical little Carnegie heiress was shuttled off home and Abraham Licht was summoned to the school to take Millie away with him-"As if I am to blame. And I am not, Father!-I am not."

"Of course you're not to blame, darling," Abraham said, kissing his vexed daughter on the forehead, "-but it might be politic, you know, to express some regret."

"'Regret'?-for what?"

"That this silly little girl imagined she should die over you, and take up arms against herself, in violation of all common sense. That, you know, she was hurt; and her life, and her family's, is in a turmoil."

"But how is that my fault, Father? What had I to do with it? Everyone has been so unfair!" Millie cried, wiping at her eyes. "They look at me as if I'd given her the knife, myself. A ridiculous little dull penknife that wouldn't cut b.u.t.ter. If I had-"

"Now hush, darling," Abraham said quickly, squeezing his daughter's shoulder just hard enough to capture her attention, "you must not speak words that might be misunderstood, and misquoted."

But there was nothing to be done. Miss Metcalf herself, the venerable headmistress, would not hear of Millie's staying on at the school. Nor did Abraham think it a very good idea under the circ.u.mstances, though Millie's grades were quite good, and her relations with her instructors excellent. "At least, Father, they should refund you for the remainder of the school year," Millie relented; and Abraham said, with a wink, "The remainder of the year?-my dear, Miss Metcalf has agreed to refund the entire amount, dating back to September; and, in addition, the trustees have agreed to pay me a generous little sum in 'damages'-to compensate for the upset you and your family have endured."

Which made Millie laugh gaily, as if she'd been tickled.

Which made Millie stand on tiptoe to kiss her handsome bewhiskered father on the cheek, and tug in a frenzy of delight at his arm.

A tale to be recounted many times, in Muirkirk. A tale Millie loved to tell to 'Lisha in particular.

PRECOCIOUS GIRL! AS, in childhood, she possessed certain startling qualities of adolescence, so in adolescence, well beyond her sixteenth year, she retained certain charming qualities of childhood. As all well-bred ladies of the era were trained, but very few succeeded in doing.

In her sweet bell-like slightly wavering soprano voice Millie sings, for Father's admiration, that delicate air from The Bohemian Girl that is one of his favorites- "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls

with va.s.sals and serfs at my side . . . "

and the rapid clipped patter, in compound meter, of "It Is Better to Laugh Than Be Sighing," from the splendid Lucrezia Borgia; and La traviata's "Gaily Through Life I Wander"; and, with the coquettish mannerisms of an accomplished performer, the irresistible "La donna e mobile" from Rigoletto. When Millie was seven years old, and recently bereft of her faithless mother, Abraham saw to it that she was diverted by Broadway musicals and spectacles, among them Rossini's Cinderella at Booth's Theatre; so for months and years afterward Millicent sings Cinderella's arias and dreams of herself as a prima donna . . . making her debut in Booth's Theatre with Father, 'Lisha and the rest of the family proudly looking on.

Her praises, and her smiling face, lavishly displayed in all the papers.

For six arduous months Millie takes singing lessons with an elderly Neapolitan who'd made his operatic debut in Il trovatore; she attempts piano lessons, harp lessons, ballet-with initial enthusiasm, and a modic.u.m of talent, before losing heart. For it is so much work! So much d.a.m.ned, tedious work. Millie is certain that acting on the stage isn't at all demanding, except for memorizing dialogue; but, for some reason neither she nor Father can comprehend, considering her excellent auditions, Millicent Licht is never chosen for any play. When, for reasons having to do with one of Abraham Licht's projects, the "Santiago de Cuba Plantation," she, Father and 'Lisha are living in New Orleans, Millie takes elocution lessons with the Parisian Madame LaTour of Bourbon Street; another time, when the family is living in Philadelphia, she takes lessons in watercolor- and silhouette-painting, lessons in "gracious deportment" and, so long as she has the use of a spirited Thoroughbred mare owned by a woman friend of Father's, riding lessons given by a handsome young Brazilian instructor. She is fourteen years old and has quite forgotten her mother; she is fifteen years old, she is sixteen-by this time utilized by Father upon a number of occasions as a "daughter" of his-that is, a daughter of Mr. Anson, or Mr. Berry, or Mr. Frelicht, or Mr. St. Goar. Depending upon the venue, and the project. Despite her age, Millie can even play hostess for her father if required. She wears the loveliest silks, velvets and wools money can buy when, as Father quips, there is money to buy them; her hair is charmingly fashioned in braids, or sausage curls, or queenly plaits wound about her head, or is brushed smooth and glittering on her shoulders. She has kept nothing of her mother's, for, acting in a fit of childish temper one day, she cut up most of her mother's possessions (clothing, linen, correspondence, books) with a scissors; but she has a beautiful little ermine m.u.f.f and matching hat, and a red mohair coat with a mink collar; she had a darling Persian kitten (named Cinderella), until it died suddenly; her brothers are not jealous of the fact that Father so clearly loves her best . . . excepting perhaps Harwood, who is jealous of everyone. (Though she has never told anyone, Millie is sometimes frightened of Harwood, for he seems so resolutely uncharmed by her. In his small close-set unblinking eyes her china-doll prettiness counts for very little; her ploys, her mannerisms, her habits of speech and gesture provoke in him, at the very most, a mirthless grin. When they were younger he frequently pinched her, shoved her, tugged at her braids, whispered disagreeable things in her ears . . . but no matter, no matter, for he does not count: the remainder of the world is there to adore Millicent Licht, and to be heartbroken by her.) In short, Millicent lacks for nothing; and wants nothing she does not have; only that (but this is mere girlhood fancy, not to be voiced to Father) Time come to a halt . . . and Millie remain the daughter she is, and Father continue to love her as he does, forever and ever, Amen.

Yet now, with no warning, so suddenly, in Millie's eighteenth year, with the triumph of "Mina Raumlicht" fresh in her memory and so applauded by the family, and other ingenious projects surely to follow-now the bliss of childhood seems to be coming to an end.

For Thurston has fallen into the hands of their enemies, and has been sentenced to death. And Elisha, her 'Lisha, has begun to behave strangely.

And Father now neglects her. He's away most of January and February on business (for Bullock is appealing Thurston's case before the New Jersey State Supreme Court, and more money is needed, more money is always needed, to do the job properly); and when Father is at home in Muirkirk he's exhausted, melancholy and distracted, and only vaguely aware of his elder daughter.

"Am I imagining it," Millie frets, "-or is Father mourning Thurston already? That cannot be!"

Certainly Millie isn't imagining this: in the altered atmosphere of the household, Miss Mina Raumlicht, like her sisters Delphine St. Goar, Arlina Frelicht, etc., no longer has the power to make Abraham Licht smile and laugh in delight; no longer has the power to arouse in him that mysterious scintilla of energy that might take root, and smolder, and spark, and eventually flame forth in ideas-plans-plots-stratagems of The Game. Father's brow is anxiously knit, his eyes brood, the poor man is thinking, almost palpably thinking, but his thoughts yield little evident pleasure. Where, in the past, the children were accustomed to Father brooding in this way, and at last snapping his fingers and shouting in delight, "Eureka! I have found it!" now they must grow accustomed to brooding without relief, without end.

Of his plans for Thurston's rescue, should the appeal fail, Father is disturbingly vague. He consoles Millie with the unconvincing promise that "when it's all over" they will join up with Thurston in Canada, or Mexico, or Cuba . . . maybe Abraham Licht will shift his base of operations to this foreign site where he might enjoy complete anonymity, and begin his career afresh.

"There is something so appealing, isn't there?-so American-about beginning afresh," Father says, in a curious, yearning voice. "What will be a necessity for Thurston might be a fine idea for us all."

Millie makes an effort to comfort her father, lashing out bitterly at their enemies who dared to find her brother, her innocent brother, guilty of a crime no Licht would lower himself to commit. If only the true murderer were found! Millie rages. If only the police would do their duty and arrest him! Yet even that wouldn't erase the supreme insult, the insult against their family, Millie says breathlessly, of Thurston being found guilty as if he were guilty.

Abraham listens to his daughter's words, as her eyes flash damp in the firelight. And makes no reply, when she speaks of the true murderer.

For Millie knows nothing of Harwood's involvement. Like all of the household, excepting Father, she suspects nothing.

"But you will save Thurston, Father, won't you?-he will be saved?" Millie pleads, in a lowered voice so that the younger children won't hear, and be frightened; and Abraham Licht is roused from his fireside reverie, saying gently, "Yes, Millie, of course. Thurston will be saved," with a curious, almost imperceptible emphasis on the name, as if they'd been speaking, half-consciously, of someone else as well, unnamed.

How many years ago, more than a decade, when Millie was a very small child, the baby of the family, and the church-dwelling at the edge of the marsh wasn't nearly so habitable as it is now, she'd crept along a corridor wide-eyed, frightened, imagining she heard . . . adult voices raised in anger: Father whom she adored explaining (annoyed, amused) that there was nothing, absolutely nothing about which Morna should concern herself, for all business was his business, and not hers; and Mother whom she adored protesting in a voice like shattering gla.s.s, But I must know, Abraham! I demand to know, it is my life as well as yours . . . mine and my daughter's.

And Father replies sharply: I don't discuss my business affairs with women.

And Mother laughs suddenly, and says: Women! Am I women! I'd deceived myself that I was your wife!

And now silence, silence, silence . . .

And now great waves of silence . . .

For Father does not reply. Father does not condescend to reply.