Glory of Youth

Glory of Youth, by Temple Bailey

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Glory of Youth, by Temple Bailey This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Glory of Youth
Author: Temple Bailey
Illustrator: Henry Hutt C. S. Corson
Release Date: August 10, 2007 [EBook #22292]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLORY OF YOUTH ***

Produced by Suzanne Shell, Paul Stephen and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

[Illustration: HE IMPRISONED THE SMALL HAND]
GLORY OF YOUTH
BY TEMPLE BAILEY
AUTHOR OF CONTRARY MARY
ILLUSTRATED BY HENRY HUTT and C. S. CORSON
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
[Illustration: Publishers mark]
First printing, August, 1913 Second printing, February, 1916 Third printing February, 1917 Fourth printing August, 1919
Manufacturing Plant
Camden, N. J.

The Glory of Youth

To My Mother

Contents
I. BETTINA 9
II. IN THE SHADOWY ROOM 21
III. IN WHICH DIANA REAPS 36
IV. WHITE LILACS 51
V. IN WHICH BETTINA DANCES 64
VI. "FOR EVERY MAN THERE IS JUST ONE WOMAN" 80
VII. HARBOR LIGHT 94
VIII. THE EMPTY HOUSE 105
IX. THE GOLDEN AGE 116
X. STORM SIGNALS 127
XI. THE WHITE MAIDEN 141
XII. YOUTH AND BEAUTY 155
XIII. HER LETTER TO ANTHONY 170
XIV. THE LITTLE SILVER RING 185
XV. IN WHICH BETTINA FLIES 199
XVI. VOICES IN THE DARK 213
XVII. GLORY OF YOUTH 227
XVIII. PENANCE 242
XIX. HER FATHER'S RING 257
XX. THE "GRAY GULL" 272
XXI. BROKEN WINGS 285
XXII. THE ENCHANTED FOREST 300
XXIII. THE PROCESSION OF PRETTY LADIES 316
XXIV. THE AFTERGLOW 323

Glory of Youth
CHAPTER I
BETTINA
The girl knelt on the floor, feverishly packing a shabby little trunk.
Outside was a streaming April storm, and the rain, rushing against the square, small-paned windows, shut out the view of the sea, shut out the light, and finally brought such darkness that the girl stood up with a sigh, brushed off her black dress with thin white hands, and groped her way to the door.
Beyond the door was the blackness of an upper hall in a tall century-old house. A spiral stairway descended into a well of gloom. An ancient iron lantern, attached to a chain, hung from the low ceiling.
The girl lighted the lantern, and the faint illumination made deeper the shadows below.
And from the shadows came a man's voice.
"May I come up?"
As the girl bent over the railing, the glow of the lantern made of her hair a shining halo. "Oh," she cried, radiantly, "I'm so glad you've come. I--I was afraid----"
The thunder rolled, the waves pounded on the rocks, and the darkness grew more dense, but now the girl did not heed, for what mattered a mere storm, when, ascending the stairs, was one who knew fear neither of life nor of death, nor of the things which come after death?
When at last her visitor emerged from the gloom, he showed himself beyond youthful years, with hair slightly touched with gray, not tall, but of a commanding presence, with clear, keen blue eyes, and with cheeks which were tanned by out-of-door exercise, and reddened by the prevailing weather.
"I just had to come," he said, as he took her hand. "I knew you'd be frightened."
"Yes," she said, "Miss Matthews is at school, and I am alone----"
"And unhappy?"
Her lips quivered, but she drew her hand from his, and went on into the shabby room, where she lighted a candle in a brass holder, and touched a match to a fire which was laid in the blackened brick fireplace.
The doctor's quick eye noted the preparations for departure.
"What does that mean?" he asked, and pointed to the trunk.
"I--I am going away----"
"Away?"
"Yes," nervously; "I--I can't stay here, doctor."
"Why not?"
"Oh," tremulously, "it was all right when I had mother, because she was so sick that I was too busy to realize how deadly lonely it was here. I knew she needed the sea air, and she could get it better in the top of this old house than anywhere else. But now that she's gone--I can't stand it. I'm young, and Miss Matthews is away all day teaching--and when she comes home at night we have nothing in common, and there's the money left from the insurance--and so--I'm going away."
He looked at her, with her red-gold hair in high relief against the worn leather of the chair in which she sat, at the flower-like face, the slender figure, the tiny feet in childish strapped slippers.
"You aren't fit to fight the world," he said; "you aren't fit."
"Perhaps it won't be such a fight," she said. "I could get something to do in the city, and----"
He shook his head. "You don't know--you can't know----" Then he broke off to ask, "What would you do with your furniture?"
"Miss Matthews would be glad to take the rooms just as they are. She was delighted when