Flower of the Dusk   By: Myrtle Reed (1874-1911)

by

MYRTLE REED

G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London The Knickerbocker Press 1908 Copyright, 1908 by Myrtle Reed McCullough The Knickerbocker Press, New York

By MYRTLE REED.

FLOWER OF THE DUSK. LOVE AFFAIRS OF LITERARY MEN. A SPINNER IN THE SUN. LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN. LATER LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN. THE SPINSTER BOOK. LAVENDER AND OLD LACE. THE MASTER'S VIOLIN. AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK O' LANTERN. THE SHADOW OF VICTORY. THE BOOK OF CLEVER BEASTS. PICKABACK SONGS.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I A MAKER OF SONGS 1

II MISS MATTIE 15

III THE TOWER OF COLOGNE 28

IV THE SEVENTH OF JUNE 42

V ELOISE 55

VI A LETTER 68

VII AN AFTERNOON CALL 83

VIII A FAIRY GODMOTHER 98

IX TAKING THE CHANCE 111

X IN THE GARDEN 126

XI BARBARA'S "TO MORROW" 142

XII MIRIAM 155

XIII "WOMAN SUFFRAGE" 169

XIV BARBARA'S BIRTHDAY 181

XV THE SONG OF THE PINES 194

XVI BETRAYAL 209

XVII "NEVER AGAIN" 225

XVIII THE PASSING OF FIDO 238

XIX THE DREAMS COME TRUE 253

XX PARDON 273

XXI THE PERILS OF THE CITY 286

XXII AUTUMN LEAVES 299

XXIII LETTERS TO CONSTANCE 313

XXIV THE BELLS IN THE TOWER 327

Flower of the Dusk

[Illustration: "Secretly, too, both were ashamed, having come unawares upon knowledge that was not meant for them." Page 82. From a painting by Clinton Balmer ]

I

A Maker of Songs

[Sidenote: Sunset]

The pines, darkly purple, towered against the sunset. Behind the hills, the splendid tapestry glowed and flamed, sending far messages of light to the grey East, where lay the sea, crooning itself to sleep. Bare boughs dripped rain upon the sodden earth, where the dead leaves had so long been hidden by the snow. The thousand sounds and scents of Spring at last had waked the world.

The man who stood near the edge of the cliff, quite alone, and carefully feeling the ground before him with his cane, had chosen to face the valley and dream of the glory that, perchance, trailed down in living light from some vast loom of God's. His massive head was thrown back, as though he listened, with a secret sense, for music denied to those who see.

[Sidenote: Joyful Memories]

He took off his hat and stray gleams came through the deepening shadows to rest, like an aureole, upon his silvered hair. Remembered sunsets, from beyond the darkness of more than twenty years, came back to him with divine beauty and diviner joy. Mnemosyne, that guardian angel of the soul, brought from her treasure house gifts of laughter and tears; the laughter sweet with singing, and the bitterness of the tears eternally lost in the Water of Forgetfulness.

Slowly, the light died. Dusk came upon the valley and crept softly to the hills. Mist drifted in from the sleeping sea, and the hush of night brooded over the river as it murmured through the plain. A single star uplifted its exquisite lamp against the afterglow, near the veiled ivory of the crescent moon.

Sighing, the man turned away. "Perhaps," he thought, whimsically, as he went cautiously down the path, searching out every step of the way, "there was no sunset at all."

The road was clear until he came to a fallen tree, over which he stepped easily. The new softness of the soil had, for him, its own deep meaning of resurrection. He felt it in the swelling buds of the branches that sometimes swayed before him, and found it in the scent of the cedar as he crushed a bit of it in his hand.