The Tiffin tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1868-1887, 1874-04-16

that / trust / would not-but If ]
played truant to my better self in
some way? / am not all of piece
like you. 1 will tell you what
brought this into my head. AS was
waiting for you this evening, l pick
ed up q volume of poetry on the table;
1t chanced to be Robert BrowniDg's
Men and Women and opened 1t at
ANY Wife to Any Husband Some
how the poem as read it sank into
my heart. I felt as IL 1t were you
speaking, and / have wanted ever
since to hear you say that you IOolHd
/ put q kiss of pardon on my brow
'twixt the leaves Of coronet.' His
voice sank low, almost to q whisper,
and was pleading in its tone as he ut
tered the last words.
For a moment she was silent; the
strangeness of his appeal silenced her,
it seemed so strange that such a
thought should have come to him
with that poem, so strange that he
should accept the position and throw
himself on her love for excuse. She
would have thought that such q
sketch possessed no power to pene-
trate him, that he was invulnerable
to IL; but she did not stop to think it
out; IL flashed through her, and then
she spoke impulsively:
"You will never need 1t, dearest;
but, as you will take that mans
place, will take the woman's, and
answer you in her very words. Lis
ten; they are as true as if they were
not poetry, only plain prose and 1
had written them:
"It all comes 20 the same thing at the end.
Since mine thou vast, mine art, and mine
Faithful or faithIess, sealing up the sum
Or lavish of my treasure, thou must come
Back to the hearts place here keep for
thee"
She rose as she said the words, and
her voice rang clear and true, though
low; they went home to his heart and
carried q deep sense of power and
rest and sureness.
"You are sure, are you not ?" he
said, clasping her hands in his.
"Quite sure" she answered; you
are mine, aud nothing can separate
US but your will; and, Walter, If you
ever leave me, you will come back TO
the hearts place here 1 keep for
thee.'n
"Il never leave it," he said sit
was a foolish fancy. You must go to
rest-good-night; we will meet again
tomorrow"
They parted, and he walked home
through the fields and lanes in the
yellow moonlight, musing ana won
dering; he was Of q restless nature
and forever being driven about by
strong winds. Eleanor's strong spir-
IL seemed to anchor him more firmly
than ever in his life. Her words had
given him sense of repose that was
most unusual; again and again he
said them over to himself. And her
words had the rare property Of al
ways retaining sense of reality in
your memory; they never dwindled
in power; they seemed like real living
things, not mere symbols of ideas.
How many times in the years that
followed that night did those words
of hers come back to Walter Gordon's
mind, and with what different echo
did they repeat themselves!
CHAPTER II.
The three weeks were over, and
Walter was walking rap idly from his
hotel toward tine house VIII ere Eleanor
dweIt with an aunt and uncle, an d
where he should find her awaiting his
arrival. II his relation to her had
lacked anything, it had been excite
ment, at least all superficial excite
ment. Her love had been given as
frankly, as freely, and as simply as
very Juliets, and no artificial obsta-
cles had caused the stream of bis feel
ings to become turbulent through OPP
position. So it was that he had un-
consciously enjoyed the past few
weeks, for they had been the only
ones since his first meeting with Ell
eanor that had the element of uncer-
tainty in them. His nature was so
imaginative that simple joys seemed
havOrless to him, and he was forever
hungeripg after s0ltpcon Of iBsecur-
ity to give them zest. So 1t was that
when, q week after he had hidden her
farewell at the station, the letter that
follows had come to him, it had been
Just what he wanted. It indeed dis
tressed and agitated him; he longed
to fly to her at once, with ardent, de-
voted words on his lips; but like
stormy petrol, his soul was in its prop
er element when distraught by con-
fiict of feelings. Perhaps he had new
er loved her so well as when he felt
this first slight shock of feeling con-
cerning her. It had all seemed too
simple, too natural, too smooth; not
that Walter had ever said this to him.
self in words, but had he subjected
himself to species OF analysis which
is practiced only by very different
nature from his, he would have known
it to be true. And it is not all unwor-
thy, this feeling that made him and
makes others like him crave excite
ment and lights and shades Of feeling
to vary the serene fulness Of the sun
of love. No imaginative and sensi-
tive nature can help craving these
things. Its course of true love not on
ly does not, but, to satisfy its require
ments, should not run smooth.
The very symmetry and beauty of
Eleanor's character, while it COM
msnded admiration, lacked the strange
fascination and power to win, that a
more waywsrd and incomplete nature
often possesses. The letter had run
thus: " tF
81 have thought very earnestly and
lorg, Walter, of what you said to me
that last evening, and something in
me seems to demand expression in an
swer to your words. lido not feel sure
that you know what it is that I must
have from you il we are to be ali in
all to each other. / cannot feel other
than I do, and can never bear that
you should be to me no more than
most men are to their wives. love
you with an undivided love, and /
have neither power nor desire to wan
der from you. It is my only way Of
loving. I know am, compared with
you, narrow and, you may think,
hard. know that very likely this
power of q single love is but the natu-
raj accompaniment of my want of
power to attract, to fascinate, to SYM
pathiZe with many people. If like
you / could win with q smile or SEN
tence, If had gone through life draw
ing hearts after me as q loadstone
draws iron, and with as little con-
scious effort, no doubt / would feel a
corresponding sympathy with those
whom L swayed, and crumbs at least
would fall to them from the table /
have spread for you alone. But, dear
eat, it Is not so with me, and I can
never be other than miserable il it be
so with you. II my great love cannot
hold you as surely and perfectly mine
as /, Walter, am yours, I can never
be happy with you, nor can make
you happy. 1 have seen in my pom
derings of these past few days visions,
evoked by your words, of possibilities
1 dread to think of, sbysses Of suffer
ing which made my head swim to
look into, 80 dark and deep are they
In dealing with so solemn question
as ones marriage, one must accept as
facts ones qualities of heart and mind;
and / know that the Ethiopian could
sooner change his skin than my way
of loving. It would not be mere or
dinsry pain, Walter, should suffer If
you gave to any other woman any
thing I call mine; it would be spirit
ual torture that would kill me, turn
my heart to stone. You must see how
1t is. Do not misunderstood me, dear
est. have an unlimited power Of pa
thence and faith and forgiveness. /
could wait and trust in future, how
ever distant, and forgive q past, how
ever cruel; but to live in q present
and share your heart, nay, your fancy
and your sentiment, your looks and
smiles, with another woman that is