McCook weekly tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 188?-1886, 1883-09-27
A GREAT TEMPTATION.

Alice Arnden was not woman one
would select for a heroine because Of
her personality. She was neither large
nor small; she was beautiful, think
(beauty is hard thing SO define and
limit, but it was a beauty of no Won
derful or unusual type, and was of that
kind which grows on one gradually, as
his knowledge of the pOssessor of it
grows. There was wealth of sweet
ness and purity shining up in her eyes,
which tears could never wash out, and
the mouth indicated firmness and reso-
luton, which had its beginning long
before the nights vigil which had left
it SO sternly agonized.
The trouble which has come to Alice
Arnden is of no unusual kind. It is a
sudden sorrow, which has crushed out
all hope in life many times in the past,
and will many times in the future as
long as men and maidens are proud and
willful. One may say, "only lovers
quarrel,'' but one should remember
that there are heart tragedies in this
world, under the torture Of which men
and women drag out long lives without
finding peace. To Alice Arnden it
seemed as though everything worth
having in life was now forever utterly
beyond her hope.
She arose from the seat she had occu-
pied for so long and moved slowly
around her humble room. She had not
known until she moved how much she
was suffering physically; how cold it
was; how cramped and weary she was.
There was really little to do. Her bed
had not been used; her room was in
order. She had plenty of time to pre-
pare herself for the task of covering
her sorrow from the gaze of her friends
If she could.
She made fire, and into the fire she
remorsely put all the fragments of the
paper which she had spoiled in her
efforts to writea simple letter long ago
when her sorrow was new. Long ago?
Last night! Happiness gives wings of
lightness to telniry dying about our
being and so-called time rather than
eternity, which we roughly measure
and call minutes and seconds; but sor-
row weig hts their noiseless feet with
lead. =
Mr.. George Fenby was next among
the actors in this little fragment Of
human life.
He sat at the window that morning as
Alice Arnden sat at hers. His window
looked in the same direction; from it
he saw much the same scene she saw.
The stars faded out for hin, as for her;
day frightened; the sunlight fell across
his face.
But he sat there with cheerful fire
near him; he was strong from happy
sleep; his eyes were bright and cheer
full, and looked as though tears had
always been strangers to them, and his
lips were smiling.
The icy marshes seemed to him a
tyne of the future. Smooth, white,
pure-the light stretching warmly across
them-and with the ocean outside
standing to him, as to her, as type of
eternity which he felt would be one of
strength and happiness.
George Fenby thought of what he had
to be thankful for, this lovely morning.
A small fortune, enough for himself
and one other, fair woman, and good
as fair-for his promised wife; health,
education, friends, influence, position;
it was indeed a goodly prospect.
This man was strong and quick; good
looking, if not handsome. He looks
like man who would not do a wicked
thing, or think it, while he might do
weak or foolish one. He was a man
who would be likely to win woman's
heart-and hold it; man whose love a
woman might prize, and the loss OF
which she might wisely mourn: Weak
enough to be man, he was strong
enough to be one hard to win from the
life which had once had him.
There was happy smile on his face
as he heard his little brother knock at
the door, and he answered "Come in''
in CHEEKY voice.
= ..Here's a letter for you, George"
..Thank you," said George, as he
took it.
..You are welcome. By the hand
writing on the envelope [ judge the
message will be pleasant one."
And the boy left the room.
A pleasant message! The smile on
the man g face deepened, as he lovingly