CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"_Wilson, Wilson! Mildred Is Gone!_"

"Wilson, Wilson! Mildred is gone, Mildred is gone!" cried Constance, ringing her hands despairingly.

"Gone," he breathed, uncomprehendingly.

"Yes, gone." His sister sank into a chair, and gave up to a flood of tears.

"But why?" he cried, only now seeming to understand that she had actually left them.

"I don't know, I don't know," she moaned.

"This is certainly a mystery. Surely dear, you are mistaken," he insisted, greatly disturbed. "Mildred would surely not have left us so unceremoniously. And, besides--why, she--she, Constance, why she gave one hundred and fifty dollars to the Christian association movement only today. And you cannot mean that she has gone! It is hardly possible!"

"I only wish it were not so; but come," and, taking his hand, she led him to the room Mildred had occupied. It was deserted, save for the furniture that belonged there. Only once had he seen the inside of it while she occupied it. And now it did not appear the same; because then, it was decorated with much lace and woman's needle work and picture postals. But, strange as he had thought, when he happened to glance into it before, there were no pictures of girls and men, young or old, nobody excepting the picture of the author of the book which she sold, and which had been taken from the frontispiece.

"This is the way I found it when I came home a few minutes ago," she said, resigned. "I cannot make it out; I cannot make anything out, except that the sweetest friend, the dearest girl I ever knew, has disappeared strangely."

"She sang at the meeting only a few hours ago, and sang as I never heard her sing before. She was, moreover, in the best of spirits all day, and was so enthusiastic over the meeting. Dear me," he sighed wearily.

"If she had only left some word; given some hint that she was going to leave, but, of course she knew, and couldn't tell us, so there is no use at all. She's gone and I cannot imagine how much I am going to miss her."

Her brother sank into a chair, and gazed silently at nothing. He could not think clearly of the departure. For days he had slaved for this day of inauguration, and in his work, he had looked forward to her for much help. Her encouragement, to be near her and to hear her voice daily, was more to him than our pen can describe. He had felt that he could face the mighty struggle (which he knew was now before him) with all the strength of the strong; but now only, he fully estimated what she had been to him, and what he had dreamed that she would be some day. And all that, was now cast aside; in this one moment, his hope, his greatest hope had been shattered.

His sister looked at him, and for a moment, almost fell on her knees in sympathy. For she had not been blind. She had seen the change coming over him, with no thought but to encourage him. Constance had faith and patience and perseverance, and she had felt that everything would result favorably in the end.

And then she had watched this girl during that spell of a short time ago. She had seen her appearance change, as the result of some mystery. Her eyes became dazed from loss of sleep, due to the worry and subtle fear. It was then, with great cheer, that she saw it disappear later, until she was the same again. Constance was happy then, because the other was happy. She had been happier still, because she saw that, without effort, the other was making her brother happy. He had fairly thrived under it.

Constance felt that his lot was a hard one. She was confident that he would be a leader of men, in a greater measure than he was at the present. And when she had carefully observed the practical ability, as well as the intuition and foresight of Mildred Latham, she had longed, with all the craving of her heart, for a union between these two.

And, as she saw her brother now, with eyes dry and listless, her heart went out to him with all of a sister's love. It pained her more, when she realized that she could not help him. She would have to stand by and say nothing, at the very time he needed her more than ever before. He was too strong a man by disposition; he possessed too much will power, and was too proud to ask or accept sympathy. It would all have to be given in silence.

There was a knock at the door. She heard steps on the porch, and guessed it was the people calling in regard to the Y.M.C.A. And it was only then she recalled, that they had been invited to a supper. She called to him:

"Wilson, some one has called." She went to the door and admitted a dozen persons, members of the church, and foremost enthusiasts in the Christian forward movement.

"Well, well!" Martin Girsh, principal of the local high school cried, coming in ahead of the others. "You are both sitting here at home, when we have been looking all around for you. And you both show the effect of the strain you have been laboring under, in this affair." He said this after he had seen the look upon their faces, their efforts at self-possession, which they could not hide. They were glad he saw it that way.

"Where is the young lady, the dear young lady who showed such an interest in the movement by giving such a liberal sum?" inquired one, and it was immediately taken up by the others. It required an effort on the part of both, to explain that she was out and would not be back again that evening....

"Isn't that too bad! And all of us were simply wild to meet her, to hear her sing, and to know more of this courageous young person," said the professor, with much regret.

"She is positively a jewel, to say the least. Upon my honor," cried another, who was a letter carrier, "I didn't know she was such a treasure until she sang, and when she led them all in a cash subscription, I declared I would have to become better acquainted with her."

"I had heard her play and sing, but, indeed, I didn't know she possessed such a voice before."

"Suppose we arrange a banquet for this young lady, have her cut in the paper, and let the people know what a race-spirited young woman we have in this town," suggested one. The others took it up by acclamation. Wilson's eyes found his sister's, with a sickly green expression. And then he heard them again.

"When can we arrange this, Wilson? It is left to you and Miss Jacobs to set a date. The incident of this young woman's contribution to the colored Y.M.C.A., can be employed to a great advantage in the inauguration of this movement."

"Fire, fire, fire!" came an alarm from the street at that moment. All eyes sought the front, where, directly across the street and one door down, a large frame house suddenly burst into flames. Forthwith the visitors rushed, in a body. A wind was blowing strongly from the west at that moment, and the conflagration seemed to draw the flames. It had not rained for some time, and in an incredibly short time, the beautiful structure of a few minutes before, was beyond saving. From the way the flames were fanned by the wind, they threatened to endanger other buildings.

In a few minutes, the place was surrounded by spectators; while a number of fire departments were rushed to the scene from different directions.

It was hours later before the flames were subdued. Only a mass of charred ruins marked the place where the handsome structure had stood.

Services at the churches were well under way before many of the watchers left the scene, and the number included many of Jacob's callers who had, of course, forgotten their suggestion to entertain Mildred Latham, in honor of the beginning of the effort to secure aid for the colored youth of the city.

As they sat alone that evening, neither Wilson Jacobs nor his sister offered any comment upon how they were saved an embarrassing ordeal. They were both thinking, thinking, and seeing, with their eyes full of tears, a chair where one had sat and talked and laughed with them the Sunday night before.

Their hearts were heavy, very heavy, for, strangely enough, they felt that Mildred Latham would never sit in that chair again.