The Heart's Kingdom

"I won't, I won't make you unhappy--but I must go. I must! I'll--I'll be

happy--and good now--if you'll only be happy. Good-bye!" And as she

called back at me over her shoulder, Martha ran from me down through the

hedge and into the door of the chapel, which always, night and day, rain

and storm, stood slightly ajar. A queer pain smote me to see that she

had run from me into the only place in all the broad, smiling Harpeth

Valley where I could not--or would not, follow her. And the sanctuary

that she sought was for every man, woman or child who wanted it--only I

could not and would not seek it.

"'The covert of wings,'" I whispered to myself, as I went down the

street to Mrs. Sproul's as rapidly as possible to be rid of my own

company. As I repeated the words that the parson had used to Mr.

Jeffries I noticed one great white cloud with a dark center flash fire

into another, to a great crashing and rumbling. "I wonder if it is

really going to storm," I speculated gloomily, as I turned into the

Sproul gate, but the brilliant sunshine seemed to fling me a dazzling

denial from every petal of the white clematis that wreathed itself

across the front porch, under which Mrs. Sproul, arrayed in all the

midday magnificence of good form, sat and waited for her guests. Mrs.

Cockrell sat beside her and they were delighted to see me and demanded

happiness from me which it was hard for me to give from the depths that

had been stirred by my strange interview with Martha, to which I felt I

ought to have a key, but could not find it anywhere.