"I feel satisfied,"the instructor said,"that I have met that young man in my own country.It was a number of years ago,and of course he has altered in appearance a good deal;but there is a look about him of--what shall I call it?---apprehension,--as if he were fearing the approach of something or somebody.I think it is the way a man would look that was haunted;you know what I mean,--followed by a spirit or ghost.He does not suggest the idea of a murderer,--very far from it;but if he did,I should think he was every minute in fear of seeing the murdered man's spirit."The student was curious,in his turn,to know all the instructor could recall.He had seen him in Rome,he thought,at the Fountain of Trevi,where so many strangers go before leaving the city.The youth was in the company of a man who looked like a priest.He could not mistake the peculiar expression of his countenance,but that was all he now remembered about his appearance.His attention had been called to this young man by seeing that some of the bystanders were pointing at him,and noticing that they were whispering with each other as if with reference to him.He should say that the youth was at that time fifteen or sixteen years old,and the time was about ten years ago.
After all,this evidence was of little or no value.Suppose the youth were Maurice;what then?We know that he had been in Italy,and had been there a good while,--or at least we infer so much from his familiarity with the language,and are confirmed in the belief by his having an Italian servant,whom he probably brought from Italy when he returned.If he wrote the paper which was read the other evening,that settles it,for the writer says he had lived by the Tiber.We must put this scrap of evidence furnished by the Professor with the other scraps;it may turn out of some consequence,sooner or later.It is like a piece of a dissected map;it means almost nothing by itself,but when we find the pieces it joins with we may discover a very important meaning in it.
In a small,concentrated community like that which centred in and immediately around Arrowhead Village,every day must have its local gossip as well as its general news.The newspaper tells the small community what is going on in the great world,and the busy tongues of male and female,especially the latter,fill in with the occurrences and comments of the ever-stirring microcosm.The fact that the Italian ,teacher had,or thought he had,seen Maurice ten years before was circulated and made the most of,--turned over and over like a cake,until it was thoroughly done on both sides and all through.It was a very small cake,but better than nothing.Miss Vincent heard this story,as others did,and talked about it with her friend,Miss Tower.Here was one more fact to help along.
The two young ladies who had recently graduated at the Corinna Institute remained,as they had always been,intimate friends.They were the natural complements of each other.Euthymia represented a complete,symmetrical womanhood.Her outward presence was only an index of a large,wholesome,affluent life.She could not help being courageous,with such a firm organization.She could not help being generous,cheerful,active.She had been told often enough that she was fair to look upon.She knew that she was called The Wonder by the schoolmates who were dazzled by her singular accomplishments,but she did not overvalue them.She rather tended to depreciate her own gifts,in comparison with those of her friend,Miss Lurida Vincent.
The two agreed all the better for differing as they did.The octave makes a perfect chord,when shorter intervals jar more or less on the ear.Each admired the other with a heartiness which if they had been less unlike,would have been impossible.
It was a pleasant thing to observe their dependence on each other.
The Terror of the schoolroom was the oracle in her relations with her friend.All the ******* of movement which The Wonder showed in her bodily exercises The Terror manifested in the world of thought.She would fling open a book,and decide in a swift glance whether it had any message for her.Her teachers had compared her way of reading to the taking of an instantaneous photograph.When she took up the first book on Physiology which Dr.Butts handed her,it seemed to him that if she only opened at any place,and gave one look,her mind drank its meaning up,as a moist sponge absorbs water."What can Ido with such a creature as this?"he said to himself."There is only one way to deal with her,treat her as one treats a silkworm:
give it its mulberry leaf,and it will spin its own cocoon.Give her the books,and she will spin her own web of knowledge.""Do you really think of studying medicine?"said Dr.Butts to her.
"I have n't made up my mind about that,"she answered,"but I want to know a little more about this terrible machinery of life and death we are all tangled in.I know something about it,but not enough.Ifind some very strange beliefs among the women I meet with,and Iwant to be able to silence them when they attempt to proselyte me to their whims and fancies.Besides,I want to know everything.""They tell me you do,already,"said Dr.Butts.
"I am the most ignorant little wretch that draws the breath of life!"exclaimed The Terror.
The doctor smiled.He knew what it meant.She had reached that stage of education in which the vast domain of the unknown opens its illimitable expanse before the eyes of the student.We never know the extent of darkness until it is partially illuminated.
"You did not leave the Institute with the reputation of being the most ignorant young lady that ever graduated there,"said the doctor.
"They tell me you got the highest marks of any pupil on their record since the school was founded.""What a grand thing it was to be the biggest fish in our small aquarium,to be sure!"answered The Terror."He was six inches long,the monster,--a little too big for bait to catch a pickerel with!
