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delights was before her。 She compelled herself to take heart； to
accept the fact that； after all； the world is a pretty good
place； and that to think only of the past； to live only on
memories and regrets； was not only cowardly and selfish； but； as
Latimer had already decided； did not tend toward efficiency。
Among the other rules of conduct that she imposed upon herself
was not to think of Latimer。 At least； not during the waking
hours。 Should she； as it sometimes happened； dream of himshould
she imagine they were again seated among the pines； riding across
the downs； or racing at fifty miles an hour through country
roads； with the stone fences flying past； with the wind and the
sun in their eyes； and in their hearts happiness and
contentthat would not be breaking her rule。 If she dreamed of
him； she could not be held responsible。 She could only be
grateful。
And then； just as she had banished him entirely from her mind； he
came East。 Not as once he had planned to come； only to see her；
but with a blare of trumpets； at the command of many citizens； as
the guest of three cities。 He was to speak at public meetings； to
confer with party leaders； to carry the war into the enemy's
country。 He was due to speak in Boston at Faneuil Hall on the
first of May； and that same night to leave for the West； and
three days before his coming Helen fled from the city。 He had
spoken his message to Philadelphia； he had spoken to New York；
and for a week the papers had spoken only of him。 And for that
week； from the sight of his printed name； from sketches of him
exhorting cheering mobs； from snap…shots of him on rear platforms
leaning forward to grasp eager hands； Helen had shut her eyes。
And that during the time he was actually in Boston she might
spare herself further and more direct attacks upon her feelings
she escaped to Fair Harbor； there to remain until； on the first
of May at midnight； he again would pass out of her life； maybe
forever。 No one saw in her going any significance。 Spring had
come； and in preparation for the summer season the house at Fair
Harbor must be opened and set in order； and the presence there of
some one of the Page family was easily explained。
She made the three hours' run to Fair Harbor in her car； driving
it herself； and as the familiar landfalls fell into place； she
doubted if it would not have been wiser had she stayed away。 For
she found that the memories of more than twenty summers at Fair
Harbor had been wiped out by those of one summer； by those of one
man。 The natives greeted her joyously： the boatmen； the
fishermen； her own grooms and gardeners； the village postmaster；
the oldest inhabitant。 They welcomed her as though they were her
vassals and she their queen。 But it was the one man she had
exiled from Fair Harbor who at every turn wrung her heart and
caused her throat to tighten。 She passed the cottage where he had
lodged； and hundreds of years seemed to have gone since she used
to wait for him in the street； blowing noisily on her automobile
horn； calling derisively to his open windows。 Wherever she turned
Fair Harbor spoke of him。 The golf…links； the bathing beach； the
ugly corner in the main street where he always reminded her that
it was better to go slow for ten seconds than to remain a long
time dead； the old house on the stone wharf where the schooners
made fast； which he intended to borrow for his honeymoon； the
wooden trough where they always drew rein to water the ponies；
the pond into which he had waded to bring her lilies。
On the second day of her stay she found she was passing these
places purposely； that to do so she was going out of her way。
They no longer distressed her； but gave her a strange comfort。
They were old friends； who had known her in the days when she was
rich in happiness。
But the secret hiding…placetheir very own hiding…place； the
opening among the pines that overhung the jumble of rocks and the
seashe could not bring herself to visit。 And then； on the
afternoon of the third day when she was driving alone toward the
lighthouse； her pony； of his own accord； from force of habit；
turned smartly into the wood road。 And again from force of habit；
before he reached the spot that overlooked the sea； he came to a
full stop。 There was no need to make him fast。 For hours；
stretching over many summer days； he had stood under those same
branches patiently waiting。
On foot； her heart beating tremulously； stepping reverently； as
one enters the aisle of some dim cathedral； Helen advanced into
the sacred circle。 And then she stood quite still。 What she had
expected to find there she could not have told； but it was gone。
The place was unknown to her。 She saw an opening among gloomy
pines； empty； silent； unreal。 No haunted house； no barren moor；
no neglected graveyard ever spoke more poignantly； more
mournfully； with such utter hopelessness。 There was no sign of
his or of her former presence。 Across the open space something
had passed its hand； and it had changed。 What had been a
trysting…place； a bower； a nest； had become a tomb。 A tomb； she
felt； for something that once had been brave； fine； and
beautiful； but which now was dead。 She had but one desire； to
escape from the place； to put it away from her forever； to
remember it； not as she now found it； but as first she had
remembered it； and as now she must always remember It。 She turned
softly on tiptoe as one who has intruded on a shrine。
But before she could escape there came from the sea a sudden gust
of wind that caught her by the skirts and drew her back； that set
the branches tossing and swept the dead leaves racing about her
ankles。 And at the same instant from just above her head there
beat upon the air a violent； joyous tattooa sound that was
neither of the sea nor of the woods； a creaking； swiftly repeated
sound； like the flutter of caged wings。
Helen turned in alarm and raised her eyesand beheld the
sailorman。
Tossing his arms in a delirious welcome； waltzing in a frenzy of
joy； calling her back to him with wild beckonings； she saw him
smiling down at her with the same radiant； beseeching；
worshipping smile。 In Helen's ears Latimer's commands to the
sailorman rang as clearly as though Latimer stood before her and
had just spoken。 Only now they were no longer a jest； they were a
vow； a promise； an oath of allegiance that brought to her peace；
and pride； and happiness。
〃So long as I love this beautiful lady；〃 had been his foolish
words； 〃you will guard this place。 It is a life sentence！〃
With one hand Helen Page dragged down the branch on which the
sailorman stood； with the other she snatched him from his post of
duty。 With a joyous laugh that was a sob； she clutched the
sailorman in both her hands and kissed the beseeching；
worshipping smile。
An hour later her car； on its way to Boston； passed through Fair
Harbor at a rate of speed that caused her chauffeur to pray
between his chattering teeth that the first policeman would save
their lives by landing them in jail。
At the wheel； her shoulders thrown forward； her eyes searching
the dark places beyond the reach of the leaping head…lights Helen
Page raced against time； against the minions of the law； against
sudden death； to beat the midnight train out of Boston； to assure
the man she loved of the one thing that could make his life worth
living。
And close against her heart； buttoned tight beneath her
great…coat； the sailorman smiled in the darkness； his long watch
over； his soul at peace； his duty well performed。
Chapter 6。 THE MIND READER
When Philip Endicott was at Harvard； he wrote stories of
undergraduate life suggested by things that had happened to
himself and to men he knew。 Under the title of 〃Tales of the
Yard〃 they were collected in book form； and sold surprisingly
well。 After he was graduated and became a reporter on the New
York Republic； he wrote more stories； in each of which a reporter
was the hero； and in which his failure or success in gathering
news supplied the plot。 These appeared first in the magazines；
and later in a book under the title of 〃Tales of the Streets。〃
They also were well received。
Then came to him the literary editor of the Republic； and said：
〃There are two kinds of men who succeed in writing fictionmen
of genius and reporters。 A reporter can describe a thing he has
seen in such a way that he can make the reader see it； too。 A man
of genius can describe something he has never seen； or any one
else for that matter； in such a way that the reader will exclaim：
'I have never committed a murder； but if I had； that's just the
way I'd feel about it。' For instance； Kipling tells us how a
Greek pirate； chained to the oar of a trireme； suffers； how a
mother rejoices when her baby crawls across her breast。 Kipling
has never been a mother or a pirate； but he convinces you he
knows how each of them feels。 He can do that because he is a
genius； you cannot do it because you are not。 At college you
wrote only of what you saw at college； and now that you are in
the newspaper business all your tales are only of newspaper work。
You merely report what you see。 So； if you are doomed to write
o