The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1879-11-14
RAYS ONLY LOVE;
Or, What Thanksgiving Brought.
BY LILLIAN IRVING.

BY LILLIAN IRVING.
The opening exhibition of the Art
Society was crowded that day. The
long room, with its wealth of painting
and statuary, seemed temple fit for the
gods, and the public, in all their various
ways were enjoying it. For the public
of our period are much concerned with
things artistic, and take art exhibitions
as a natural part of their daily bread,
an inalienable right of their inherit
ance.
Ray Converse was sauntering dream
lily about the room, passing few idle
hours, more for the sake of passing
them than for any very absorbing APP
probation he felt just then for the
treasures of art surrounding him. Once
he had cared for these things so much.
He thought of it now half-sadly, half
amused, as we sometimes turn back to
look at our past selves as at another in
dividual. That was III the days he had
known Genevieve Kelsey. He had
cared for her, too, with that silent, alb
sorbing, passionate devotion OF his
which was part of his nature. She
did not herself realize the depth of his
love, though she was more near to re-
spending to it than she knew, till Ralph
Eveleth came in her way and had
seemed to strangely fascinate her. He
was handsome mana man of socie-
ty, who seemed blase with the world,
who was accustomed to have his own
way, and who had run the whole scale
of enjoyment-perhaps of dissipation.
Yet he was refined and gentlemenly,
and-only the All-seeing eye could tell
how-he and Genevieve Kelsey seemed
strangely attached from the first.
When Ray Converse first found that
he could not win this fair woman he let
go all the strands that had made life
beautiful to him and went out to the
far West. He had been roughing it
there for ten years. During that time
life had been one stern reality to him.
Yet, with its CLEANS of finer things, he
learned to love the symphony of color
when the sunset fires burned low in the
west with such tints as never an artist s
brush had caught; the purple hue that
stole softly over mountains and plains
embodied him in its hush of peace. The
stars that shone above him were not
purer than his life, nor colder; for no
woman's touch could set his pulses
thrilling. How could it, after he had
known Genevieye Kelsey?
1t had been a fancy of his to pass the
Thanksgiving of this year at home
among the quiet Kentucky hills, and
now, within a few hours Journey, he
was detained in st, Estavenne by miss
ing a train. All! he little dreamed
what destiny meant when she sent that
train without him.
The city life surged about him with
its blttersweet memories and associa-
tions. His thoughts strayed unaccount-
ably backward. Some spring of memory
was touched, and long-silent melodies
flowed forth.
His half-dreaming thoughts were sud-
denly arrested by face, before which
he paused in sudden eagerness. 1t was
a medallion, woman's face wrought in
marble. There was no installing that
face-the sight of which thrilled and
touched him with all the old nameless
magnetism. He turned to the catalogue,
but the number was only entered as "a
Sketch" but he knew it was the face of
Genevieve Kelsey. In almost less time
than it could be told he was on his way
to the studio of the sculptor who had
modelled the sketch. Some sudden
prophetic instinct stirred within him
and impelled him with wild eagerness
of hope. In all these years he had not
heard of Miss Kelsey. He did not
know, he did not want to know, any
thing of the old life, since she would
now make life bright for him. He had
taken it for granted, indeed he had
vaguely heard, that she had married
Eveleth, and further ne never inquired.
But some intuitional hope, for whose
existence he could not account, hurried
him out into the chill gray of that No
vember afternoon. The brief glow ha6
already faded into the dull twilight, and
the gas was lighted here and there as
he hurried through the crowded streets.
A chill wind sprung up from the east.
A city, like an individual, has her
own moods and lenses, and If one lin
gers long within her gates one comes
to individualize her. ST. Estavenne
had changed to Mr.. Converse since he
entered it that morning, and he Jour-
neyed on with but one thought in his
mind. Was he near Geneyieve Kelsey