The Cheyenne daily leader. [volume] (Cheyenne, Wyo.) 1870-1884, 1883-11-24
"a LAKESIDE MUSING.
Why George Died While Passing the
Loftiest Point in Lire's


l~ec @l
'Bo you love me truly, Haroldrn

lChicago Tr1bune.l
ID you love me truly, Haroldr'
Lurline Neyersink was even more beautiful
than usual as she stood in the soft, mellow
light that streamed from the chandelier over
head, and, looking down fondly upon her,
George w. Simpson felt that to wreck for
ever the happiness of her young life, to plunge
her soul into the turbid depths Of despair and
hold it there by the heels, were a crime than
which none would be more black. He knew
that this girl, whose weird, passionate nature
made her heart a lutte for every passing
joy or grief TO play upon, had given TO
him the one best love of a woman's life
her first. It was something to be tenderly
proud Of, this love-something not TO be
worn lightly on tho sleeve where all might
see it, but tucked carefully away in the
woodshed of a mans soul, secure alike from
carping criticism or cruel jest. And yet as
George W. Simpson gazed tenderly into the
dark, ~lustrous eyes that were aglow with
hopeful expectancy, he felt that the mael-
strom of passionate alteration into which
Lurline Neversink had allowed herself to be
drawn would one day cast her young heart
bleeding and torn upon the jagged rocks of
his refusal. 1t was a terrible, maddening
thought, and 1t came with awful force to
George as he stood in that palatial mansion,
his feet sinking into the velvet carpet until
ITO Na1 III dhuRtl u DCCDLlllR COCK dQkltu,
and heard the words with which this chapter
opens.
Bending tenderly over the girl, George
kisses her in a chaste, New Haven, Conn,
manner, but does not trust himself to an
swer in words the fateful question she has
asked. And then they pass into the music
room, which is separated from the hall by a
portiere of navy blue velvet. The windows
of the room are shaded by curtains of the
same rich color, and the walls between them
are covered with paintings. Statues Of Mo
Fart, Beethoven, and Guido filled inches,
while over the low mantel hung a full length
portrait of Maud s.. No word was spoken
until Lurline had seated herself at the piano,
and then it was simply a request that he
han1 her a certain piece of music. As he
stopped forward to comply the outlines of
his face were brought into strong relief
against tue ruddy background of his left ear,
aud Lurline gazed at him intently. His was
such a countenance as one sees in old Italian
portraits, in some Vandykes, showing power
strangely blended with passion. His mouth,
beautiful as a woman's, with its smile gen.
erous and rare as a split Goldfish, was tightly
compressed and as bloodless as marble. His
eyebrows. dark, straight, and finely penciled,
met over bissdnrk gray eyes, and in the lat
ter there was a affixed, resolute expression that
VI NJ bOOu ~ s4uhIo Hloal II ne snOulu
happen to meet one.
At last the music was found and Lurline
began to sing. Carried away by the inspira-
ton of the moment, she sang on and on until
at last she paused from sheer exhaustion.
And then, seeing chat George was not at her
side, she turned to the fauteuil at her left.
There he lay-dead in all the proud grandeur
of his glorious manhood, when on his fore
head fell the golden dawning of a grander
day" He had died ut the moment when he
was passing the stone that marks the loftiest
point on life's highway-died where man
hoods morning almost touches it, and while
the shadows were falling toward the west.
The mellow light from the chandelier stole
into the hushed chamber of death and wan
dered over his stately form that lay power
less and stricken, over his noble, handsome
face, telling, even in death, of the deathless
love he bore her.,
He had forgotten to plug up his ears
tFrom 1.-THE Siren and the Sucker, by Murat
Halsted.