A Modern Mephistopheles, and A Whisper in the Dark. Louisa May Alcott

      “Alone?”

      “Gladys went with me, singing like a mermaid all the way.”

      “Ah!”

      Both men were lounging in the twilight; but there was a striking difference in their way Of doing it. Canaris lay motionless on a couch, his head pillowed on his arms, enjoying the luxury of repose, with the dolce far niente only possible to those in whose veins runs Southern blood. Helwyze leaned in a great chair, which looked a miracle of comfort; but its occupant stirred restlessly, as if he found no ease among its swelling cushions; and there was an alert expression in his face, betraying that the brain was at work on some thought or purpose which both absorbed and excited.

      A pause followed the brief dialogue, during which Canaris seemed to relapse into his delicious drowse, while Helwyze sat looking at him with the critical regard one bestows on a fine work of art. Yet something in the spectacle of rest he could not share seemed to annoy him; for, suddenly turning up the shaded lamp upon his table, he dispelled the soft gloom, and broke the silence.

      “I have a request to make. May I trouble you to listen?”

      There was a tone of command in the courteously worded speech, which made Canaris sit erect, with a respectful—

      “At your service, sir.”

      “I wish you to marry,” continued Helwyze, with such startling abruptness that the young man gazed at him in mute amazement for a moment. Then, veiling his surprise by a laugh, he asked lightly,—

      “Isn’t it rather soon for that, sir? I am hardly of age.”

      “Geniuses are privileged; and I am not aware of any obstacle, if I am satisfied,” answered Helwyze, with an imperious gesture, which seemed to put aside all objections.

      “Do you seriously mean it, sir?”

      “I do.”

      “But why such haste?”

      “Because it is my pleasure.”

      “I will not give up my liberty so soon,” cried the young man, with a mutinous flash of the eye.

      “I thought you had already given it up. If you choose to annul the agreement, do it, and go. You know the forfeit.”

      “I forgot this possibility. Did I agree to obey in all things?”

      “It was so set down in the bond. Entire obedience in return for the success you coveted. Have I failed in my part of the bargain?”

      “No, sir; no.”

      “Then do yours, or let us cancel the bond, and part.”

      “How can we? What can I do without you? Is there no way but this?”

      “None.”

      Canaris looked dismayed,—and well he might, for it seemed impossible to put away the cup he had thirsted for, when its first intoxicating draught was at his lips.

      Helwyze had spoken with peculiar emphasis, and his words were full of ominous suggestion to the listener’s ear; for he alone knew how much rebellion would cost him, since luxury and fame were still dearer than liberty or honor. He sprung up, and paced the room, feeling like some wild creature caught in a snare.

      Helwyze, regardless of his chafing, went on calmly, as if to a willing hearer, eying him vigilantly the while, though now his own manner was as persuasive as it had been imperative before.

      “I ask no more than many parents do, and will give you my reasons for the demand, though that was not among the stipulations.”

      “A starving man does not stop to weigh words, or haggle about promises. I was desperate, and you offered me salvation; can you wonder that I clutched the only hand held out to me?” demanded Canaris, with a world of conflicting emotions in his expressive face, as he paused before his master.

      “I am not speaking of the first agreement, that was brief as simple. The second bargain was a more complicated matter. You were not desperate then; you freely entered into it, reaped the benefits of it, and now wish to escape the consequences of your own act. Is that fair?”

      “How could I dream that you would exact such obedience as this? I am too young; it is a step that may change my whole life; I must have time,” murmured Canaris, while a sudden change passed over his whole face, his eye fell before the glance bent on him, as the other spoke.

      “It need not change your life, except to make it freer, perhaps happier. Hitherto you have had all the pleasure, now I desire my share. You often speak of gratitude; prove it by granting my request, and, in adding a new solace to my existence, you will find you have likewise added a new charm to your own.”

      “It is so sudden,—I do desire to show my gratitude,—I have tried to do my part faithfully so far,” began Canaris, as if a look, a word, had tamed his high spirit, and enforced docility sorely against his will.

      “So far, I grant that, and I thank you for the service which I desire to lessen by the step you decline to take. I have spoilt you for use, but not for ornament. I still like to see you flourish; I enjoy your success; I cannot free you; but I can give you a mate, who will take your place and amuse me at home, while you sing and soar abroad. Is that sufficiently poetical for a poet’s comprehension?” and Helwyze smiled, that satiric smile of his, still watching the young man’s agitated countenance.

      “But why need I marry? Why cannot”—there Canaris hesitated, for he lacked the courage to make the very natural suggestion Olivia had done.

      Helwyze divined the question on his lips, and answered it with stern brevity.

      “That is impossible;” then added, with the sudden softening of tone which made his voice irresistibly seductive, “I have given one reason for my whim: there are others, which affect you more nearly and pleasantly, perhaps. Little more than a year ago, your first book came out, making you famous for a time. You have enjoyed your laurels for a twelvemonth, and begin to sigh for more. The world has petted you, as it does any novelty, and expects to be paid for its petting, else it will soon forget you.”

      “No fear of that!” exclaimed the other, with the artless arrogance of youth.

      “If I thought you would survive the experiment, I would leave you to discover what a fickle mistress you serve. But frost would soon blight your budding talent, so we will keep on the world’s sunny side, and tempt the Muse, not terrify her.”

      Nothing could be smoother than the voice in which these words were said; but a keen ear would have detected an accent of delicate irony in it, and a quick eye have seen that Canaris winced, as if a sore spot had been touched.

      “I should think marriage would do that last, most effectually,” he answered, with a scornful shrug, and an air of great distaste.

      “Not always: some geniuses are the better for such bondage. I fancy you are one of them, and wish to try the experiment. If it fails, you can play Byron, to your heart’s content.”

      “A costly experiment for some one.” Canaris paused in his impatient march, to look down with a glance of pity at the dead lily still knotted in his button-hole.

      Helwyze laughed at the touch of sentiment,—a low, quiet laugh; but it made the young man flush, and hastily fling away the faded flower, whose pure loveliness had been a joy to him an hour ago. With a half docile, half defiant look, he asked coldly,—

      “What next, sir?”

      “Only this: you have done well. Now, you must do better, and let the second book be free from the chief fault which critics found,—that, though the poet wrote of love, it was evident he had never felt it.”

      “Who shall say that?” with sudden warmth.

      “I, for one. You know nothing of love, though you may flatter yourself you do. So far, it has been pretty play enough, but I will not have you waste yourself, or your time. You need