Glory of Youth

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Glory of Youth, by Temple Bailey This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Glory of Youth Author: Temple Bailey Illustrator: Henry Hutt C. S. Corson Release Date: August 10, 2007 [EBook #22292] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLORY OF YOUTH *** Produced by Suzanne Shell, Paul Stephen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net GLORY OF YOUTH BY TEMPLE BAILEY AUTHOR OF CONTRARY MARY ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY HUTT and C. S. CORSON COPYRIGHT 1913 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY First printing, August, 1913 Second printing, February, 1916 Third printing February, 1917 Fourth printing August, 1919 Manufacturing Plant Camden, N. J. To My Mother Contents I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. BETTINA IN THE SHADOWY ROOM IN WHICH DIANA REAPS WHITE LILACS IN WHICH BETTINA DANCES 9 21 36 51 64 [Pg 5] "FOR EVERY MAN THERE IS JUST ONE WOMAN" 80 HARBOR LIGHT 94 THE EMPTY HOUSE THE GOLDEN AGE STORM SIGNALS THE WHITE MAIDEN YOUTH AND BEAUTY HER LETTER TO ANTHONY THE LITTLE SILVER RING IN WHICH BETTINA FLIES 105 116 127 141 155 170 185 199 213 227 242 257 272 285 300 316 323 XVI. VOICES IN THE DARK XVII. GLORY OF YOUTH XVIII. PENANCE XIX. HER FATHER'S RING XX. THE "GRAY GULL" XXI. BROKEN WINGS XXII. THE ENCHANTED FOREST XXIII. THE PROCESSION OF PRETTY LADIES XXIV. THE AFTERGLOW Glory of Youth CHAPTER I BETTINA [Pg 9] The girl knelt on the floor, feverishly packing a shabby little trunk. Outside was a streaming April storm, and the rain, rushing against the square, small-paned windows, shut out the view of the sea, shut out the light, and finally brought such darkness that the girl stood up with a sigh, brushed off her black dress with thin white hands, and groped her way to the door. Beyond the door was the blackness of an upper hall in a tall century-old house. A spiral stairway descended into a well of gloom. An ancient iron lantern, attached to a chain, hung from the low ceiling. The girl lighted the lantern, and the faint illumination made deeper the shadows below. And from the shadows came a man's voice. "May I come up?" As the girl bent over the railing, the glow of the lantern made of her hair a shining halo. "Oh," she cried, radiantly, "I'm so glad you've come. I—I was afraid——" The thunder rolled, the waves pounded on the rocks, and the darkness grew more dense, but now the girl did not heed, for what mattered a mere storm, when, ascending the stairs, was one who knew fear neither of life nor of death, nor of the things which come after death? When at last her visitor emerged from the gloom, he showed himself beyond youthful years, with hair slightly touched with gray, not tall, but of a commanding presence, with clear, keen blue eyes, and with cheeks which were tanned by out-of-door exercise, and reddened by the prevailing weather. "I just had to come," he said, as he took her hand. "I knew you'd be frightened." "Yes," she said, "Miss Matthews is at school, and I am alone——" "And unhappy?" Her lips quivered, but she drew her hand from his, and went on into the shabby room, where she lighted a candle in a brass holder, and touched a match to a fire which was laid in the blackened brick fireplace. The doctor's quick eye noted the preparations for departure. "What does that mean?" he asked, and pointed to the trunk. "I—I am going away——" "Away?" "Yes," nervously; "I—I can't stay here, doctor." "Why not?" "Oh," tremulously, "it was all right when I had mother, because she was so sick that I was too busy to realize how deadly lonely it was here. I knew she needed the sea air, and she could get it better in the top of this old house than anywhere else. But now that she's gone—I can't stand it. I'm young, and Miss Matthews is away all day teaching—and when she comes home at night we have nothing in common, and there's the money left from the insurance—and so—I'm going away." He looked at her, with her red-gold hair in high relief against the worn leather of the chair in which she sat, at the flower-like face, the slender figure, the tiny feet in childish strapped slippers. "You aren't fit to fight the world," he said; "you aren't fit." "Perhaps it won't be such a fight," she said. "I could get something to do in the city, and——" He shook his head. "You don't know—you can't know——" Then he broke off to ask, "What would you do with your furniture?" "Miss Matthews would be glad to take the rooms just as they are. She was delighted when you asked her to stay with me after mother died. She loves our old things, the mahogany and the banjo clock, and the embroidered peacocks, and the Venetian heirlooms that belonged to Dad's family. But I hate them." "Hate them—why?" "Because, oh, you know, because Dad treated mother so dreadfully. He broke her heart." His practiced eye saw that she was speaking tensely. "I wish you'd get me a cup of tea," he said, suddenly. "I'm just from the sanatorium. I operated on a bad case —and, well, that's sufficient excuse, isn't it, for me to want to drink a cup of tea with you?" She was busy in a moment with her hospitality. "Oh, why didn't you tell me? And you're wet." Her hand touched his coat lightly as she passed him. "The rain came so suddenly that I couldn't get the window of my car closed; it's an awful storm. "And now," he said, when she had brought the tea on an old Sheffield tray, and had set it on a little folding [Pg 13] [Pg 12] [Pg 11] [Pg 10] table which he placed between them on the hearth, "and now let's talk about it." "Please don't try to make me stay——" "Why not?" "Because, oh, because you can't know what I suffer here; it isn't just because I've lost mother, but the people —they all know about her and about Dad, and they aren't nice to me." "My dear child!" "Perhaps it's because father was a singer and an Italian, and mother came of good old Puritan stock. They seem to think she