At Love's Cost

"I know," he assented. "My virtue has been its own reward--and

punishment. If I had allowed you to go your way to the proverbial dogs,

after whose society gilded youths like yourself appear to be always

hankering, I should not be sitting here with cold water running down my

back and surrounded by Nature in her gloomiest and dampest aspects.

Only once have I deviated from the life of consistent selfishness at

which every sensible man should aim, and see how I am punished! I do

not wish to be unduly inquisitive, but I should like to know where the

blazes we are going, and why we do not make for a decent hotel--if

there is such a thing in these desolate wilds."

Stafford handed him the reins so that he himself might get out his

cigar-case, and with some little difficulty, and assisted by

Pottinger's soaked hat, the two gentlemen got their cigars alight.

"There isn't a decent hotel for miles," explained Stafford. "There is

only a small inn at a little place called Carysford. I looked it out on

the map. I thought we'd drive there today, put up for the night to give

the horses a rest, and go on to this place of my governor's the next

day. It's on the opposite side of the lake."

He jerked his whip to the right.

"Which side, what lake?" asked Howard, hopelessly. "I see nothing of

the lake, nothing but mist and sodden hills. No wonder the word 'poet'

instinctively arouses one's animosity. When I think of the number of

well-meaning and inspired idiots who have written reams of poetry about

this place, I feel at this present moment as if I could cheerfully rend

even a Wordsworth, a Southey, or a Coleridge; and I look back with

remorse upon the hours, the throbs of admiration, I have expended upon

what I once deemed their inspired pages. If I remember rightly, most of

the lake poets went off their heads; when I gaze around me I must admit

that I am not surprised."

Stafford laughed absently; he was quite accustomed to Howard's cynical

vein.

"They're all right enough," he said. "That is, I suppose they are, for

I never read any of 'em since I left school. Oh, yes, they're right

enough about the beauty of the place; you should see it on a fine day."

"Has anyone seen it on a fine day?" inquired Howard, with the innocent

air of one simply seeking information. "I asked a countryman in the

train if it always rained here, and he replied, 'No; it sometimes

snows.'"