The Blue Flower [29]
than this. It lay in the
man's moral nature, in the error of his central will. It was
the working out, in abnormal form, but with essential truth,
of his chosen and cherished ideal of life. Spy Rock was
something more than the seat of his delusion. it was the
expression of his temperament. The solitary trail that led
thither was the symbol of his search for happiness--alone,
forgetful of life's lowlier ties, looking down upon the world in
the cold abstraction of scornful knowledge. How was such a man
to be brought back to the real life whose first condition is the
acceptance of a limited outlook, the willingness to live by
trust as much as by sight, the power of finding joy and peace
in the things that we feel are the best, even though we cannot
prove them nor explain them? How could he ever bring anything
but discord and sorrow to those who were bound to him?
This was what perplexed and oppressed me. I needed all
the time until the next Saturday to think the question
through, to decide what should be done. But the matter was
taken out of my hands. After our latest expedition Keene's
dark mood returned upon him with sombre intensity. Dull,
restless, indifferent, half-contemptuous, he seemed to
withdraw into himself, observing those around him with
half-veiled glances, as if he had nothing better to do and yet
found it a tiresome pastime. He was like a man waiting
wearily at a railway station for his train. Nothing pleased
him. He responded to nothing.
Graham controlled his indignation by a constant effort.
A dozen times he was on the point of speaking out. But he
restrained himself and played fair. Dorothy's suffering could
not be hidden. Her loyalty was strained to the breaking
point. She was too tender and true for anger, but she was
wounded almost beyond endurance.
Keene's restlessness increased. The intervening Thursday
was Thanksgiving Day; most of the boys had gone home; the
school had holiday. Early in the morning he came to me.
"Let us take our walk to-day. We have no work to do.
Come! In this clear, frosty air, Spy Rock will be glorious!"
"No," I answered, "this is no day for such an expedition.
This is the home day. Stay here and be happy with us all.
You owe this to love and friendship. You owe it to Dorothy
Ward."
"Owe it?" said he. "Speaking of debts, I think each man
is his own preferred creditor. But of course you can do as
you like about to-day. Tomorrow or Saturday will answer just
as well for our third walk together."
About noon he came down from his room and went to the
piano, where Dorothy was sitting. They talked together in low
tones. Then she stood up, with pale face and wide-open eyes.
She laid her hand on his arm.
"Do not go, Edward. For the last time I beg you to stay
with us to-day."
He lifted her hand and held it for an instant. Then he
bowed, and let it fall.
"You will excuse me, Dorothy, I am sure. I feel the need
of exercise. Absolutely I must go; good-by--until the
evening."
The hours of that day passed heavily for all of us. There
was a sense of disaster in the air. Something irretrievable
had fallen from our circle. But no one dared to name it.
Night closed in upon the house with a changing sky. All the
stars were hidden. The wind whimpered and then shouted. The
rain swept down in spiteful volleys, deepening at last into a
fierce, steady discharge. Nine o'clock, ten o'clock passed,
and Keene did not return. By midnight we were certain that
some accident had befallen him.
It was impossible to go up into the mountains in that
pitch-darkness of furious tempest. But we could send down to
the village for men to organise a search-party and to bring
the doctor. At daybreak we set out--some of the men going
with the Master along Black Brook, others in different
directions to make sure of a complete search--Graham and the
doctor and I following the secret trail that I knew only too
well. Dorothy insisted that she must go. She would bear no
denial, declaring that
man's moral nature, in the error of his central will. It was
the working out, in abnormal form, but with essential truth,
of his chosen and cherished ideal of life. Spy Rock was
something more than the seat of his delusion. it was the
expression of his temperament. The solitary trail that led
thither was the symbol of his search for happiness--alone,
forgetful of life's lowlier ties, looking down upon the world in
the cold abstraction of scornful knowledge. How was such a man
to be brought back to the real life whose first condition is the
acceptance of a limited outlook, the willingness to live by
trust as much as by sight, the power of finding joy and peace
in the things that we feel are the best, even though we cannot
prove them nor explain them? How could he ever bring anything
but discord and sorrow to those who were bound to him?
This was what perplexed and oppressed me. I needed all
the time until the next Saturday to think the question
through, to decide what should be done. But the matter was
taken out of my hands. After our latest expedition Keene's
dark mood returned upon him with sombre intensity. Dull,
restless, indifferent, half-contemptuous, he seemed to
withdraw into himself, observing those around him with
half-veiled glances, as if he had nothing better to do and yet
found it a tiresome pastime. He was like a man waiting
wearily at a railway station for his train. Nothing pleased
him. He responded to nothing.
Graham controlled his indignation by a constant effort.
A dozen times he was on the point of speaking out. But he
restrained himself and played fair. Dorothy's suffering could
not be hidden. Her loyalty was strained to the breaking
point. She was too tender and true for anger, but she was
wounded almost beyond endurance.
Keene's restlessness increased. The intervening Thursday
was Thanksgiving Day; most of the boys had gone home; the
school had holiday. Early in the morning he came to me.
"Let us take our walk to-day. We have no work to do.
Come! In this clear, frosty air, Spy Rock will be glorious!"
"No," I answered, "this is no day for such an expedition.
This is the home day. Stay here and be happy with us all.
You owe this to love and friendship. You owe it to Dorothy
Ward."
"Owe it?" said he. "Speaking of debts, I think each man
is his own preferred creditor. But of course you can do as
you like about to-day. Tomorrow or Saturday will answer just
as well for our third walk together."
About noon he came down from his room and went to the
piano, where Dorothy was sitting. They talked together in low
tones. Then she stood up, with pale face and wide-open eyes.
She laid her hand on his arm.
"Do not go, Edward. For the last time I beg you to stay
with us to-day."
He lifted her hand and held it for an instant. Then he
bowed, and let it fall.
"You will excuse me, Dorothy, I am sure. I feel the need
of exercise. Absolutely I must go; good-by--until the
evening."
The hours of that day passed heavily for all of us. There
was a sense of disaster in the air. Something irretrievable
had fallen from our circle. But no one dared to name it.
Night closed in upon the house with a changing sky. All the
stars were hidden. The wind whimpered and then shouted. The
rain swept down in spiteful volleys, deepening at last into a
fierce, steady discharge. Nine o'clock, ten o'clock passed,
and Keene did not return. By midnight we were certain that
some accident had befallen him.
It was impossible to go up into the mountains in that
pitch-darkness of furious tempest. But we could send down to
the village for men to organise a search-party and to bring
the doctor. At daybreak we set out--some of the men going
with the Master along Black Brook, others in different
directions to make sure of a complete search--Graham and the
doctor and I following the secret trail that I knew only too
well. Dorothy insisted that she must go. She would bear no
denial, declaring that