The Toledo chronicle. [volume] (Toledo, Tama County, Iowa) 1873-1924, 1877-04-26
THE YELLOW GATE.
a1srRvA's STORY.

InE 1EL1VV dAIEs
I. MINERvA's STORY.
Jane said that she was obliged to be
careful in avoiding the night air, and
would therefore go home instead of parad.
ing about in the moonlight. The whole
statement was a fib. Jane did not fear
the damp in the least, and was as fond OF
summer moonlight as any lady of forty.
five, with a bunch of gray curls on either
side of her thin face, may be permit
ted to indulge in soft sentiment. But
there are martyrs who do not walk on heat
ed plowshares, or pass through the fire OF
other than daily trials in life. Minerva's
happiness had been elderly James care
from the cradle.
1t was sultry August evening, rem
town of Baden Baden lay in the valley
twiDkling with stars of lamps, and in
closed by the mysterious shadowland of
of neighboring hills. The Conversation
Haus had been the scene of gayety for
hours; groups of Germans had slipped
coffee at the adjacent cafe; groups of Rus
SLAMS had retained their striking individ-
unity VI law dhliuot tlAC uaNCilDS
glish and American throng; while the
towns-people inspected the whole with
the shrewd speculation of the watering
place resident. All the charm of Arts
most lavish decorations, aided by the
most beautiful setting of Nature, was still
to be found here. The banquet table gilt
tered with its ornaments OF crystal, flowers
and rich plate; but the yiands, highly
caocopa6 with oycitov,ov,f rf rosr lose
rapture and swift despair, had been swept
away. Baden Baden, robbed of its gam
bling, yawns now in the summer uight.
Music waited from that orchestra paw ilion,
where the gas jets gather to the semblance
of gigantic bunch of grapes, de-
| lightful to the listening ear. Now the
softly modraated tones were audible only
| in most subdued harmony, and again q
melancholy born pealed out a sustained
note that seemed to wander into the forest
depths seeking the ghostly echo of some
| wild huntsman's bugle.
Minerva had been silent, even penslve,
| during the evening-amood not unbecom-
| ing fair young widow in weeds, with a
brown curl hanging down her back. Her
bert Wilson at least seemed tosustain him.
self in the cleaning by studying her deli
cate profile with little conversation. Ell
derly Jane saw it all quite plainly. Mi.
nerva was beauty, and very amiable,
with a surface seldom ripped, because
the velvet smoothness of her disposition
was rarely disturbed. Somebody had been
in love with her since the age of fourteen,
when the eldest boy in the academy at
home had bought package of candy as q
! votive offering after beholding her in
white muslin and pink ribbons. Elderly
Jane could not understand it, as men were
able to exist very comfortably without her
own society. Here was this artist, Her
bert Wilson, whom they had metat Rome,
traversing the route of his predecessors,
and discovering real artistic talent in Mi
nerva's sketches of landscapes, which
may have been attributable TO the grace Of
the amateur, the sweep of her silky eye
lashes, the delicious hours spent on the
margin of Swiss lakes.
II hope he may prove as good hus-
band as poor Harry. for l believe she
means to marry him. Minerva is weak, y
reflected elderly Jane, and rose abruptly
from her seat.
Poor Harry was Minerals first mate,
and not considered half good enough
for her when he was alive.
The lovers expressed surprise on learn
ing her decision to depart. How anxious
they were about her health, and how glad
to be rid of her! She was such good
old Jane to feel herself de trop on moon
light night, only Minerva must 60 home
with her-wel, at least escort her to the
yellow gate. Jane smiled rather grimly
in the darkness, and consented. The trio
passed between the rank Of booths, brill
liant with gas and stocked with charming
triukets, and crossed the wide promenade
before the deserted Trinkhalle; then Jane
declared further escort TO be unnecessary,
and sped along the street where they
lodged, alone.
Oh, the glory Of the summer night.
with the Lichtenthal avenue frosty white
in the moonlight, and the noble trees
forming canopy of foliage far above the
head There was subtle eloquence in
all Nature, as Herbert Wilson and Mi
nerva strolled along the path together,
shielded from all this world of strangers
by closer tie of sympathy that both were
foreigners-a separate sphere amidst all
these revolving planets.
The artist had roamed from Italy to
Spain, from Algiers to Cairo, with his
portfolio, and was weary, now that the
freshness of novelty had worn away. The
widow had wept for poor Harry in all sin
cerity, but that very serenity OF tempera-
ment which elderly Jane had fostered so
long had brought her safely back into
deep waters again, after her ship had
stranded amidst the cruel rocks of SORROW.
What more natural than that the artist
should find in her society repose, and she
in him protection? The secret had