She drove away, her two empty trunks in the back of the wagon.  She sailed for Liverpool the next week and accompanied her chosen party to the cathedral towns of England.  There, in a quiet corner of York Minster, as the boy choir was chanting its anthems, her heart, an organ she had never been conscious of possessing, gave one brief sudden physical pang and she passed out of what she had called life.  Neither her family affairs nor the names of her relations were known, and the news of her death did not reach far-away Beulah till more than two months afterward, and with it came the knowledge that Cousin Ann Chadwick had left the income of five thousand dollars to each of the five Carey children, with five thousand to be paid in cash to Mother Carey on the settlement of the estate.

XXXII

DOORS OF DARING

Little the Careys suspected how their fortunes were mending, during those last days of June!  Had they known, they might almost have been disappointed, for the spur of need was already pricking them, and their valiant young spirits longed to be in the thick of the fray.  Plans had been formed for the past week, many of them in secret, and the very next day after the close of the academy, various business projects would burst upon a waiting world.  One Sunday night Mother Carey had read to the little group a poem in which there was a verse that struck on their ears with a fine spirit:—­

  “And all the bars at which we fret,
  That seem to prison and control,
  Are but the doors of daring set
  Ajar before the soul.”

They recited it over and over to themselves afterwards, and two or three of them wrote it down and pinned it to the wall, or tucked it in the frame of the looking glass.

Olive Lord knocked at her father’s study door the morning of the twenty-first of June.  Walking in quietly she said, “Father, yesterday was my seventeenth birthday.  Mother left me a letter to read on that day, telling me that I should have fifty dollars a month of my own when I was seventeen, Cyril to have as much when he is the same age.”

“If you had waited courteously and patiently for a few days you would have heard this from me,” her father answered.

“I couldn’t be sure!” Olive replied.  “You never did notice a birthday; why should you begin now?”

“I have more important matters to take up my mind than the consideration of trivial dates,” her father answered.  “You know that very well, and you know too, that notwithstanding my absorbing labors, I have endeavored for the last few months to give more of my time to you and Cyril.”

“I realize that, or I should not speak to you at all,” said Olive.  “It is because you have shown a little interest in us lately that I consult you.  I want to go at once to Boston to study painting.  I will deny myself everything else, if necessary, but I will go, and I will study!  It is the only life I care for, the only life I am likely to have, and I am determined to lead it.”