Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1883-12-26
THE CLOSET SKELETON
Which Haunted the Fair Maid OF
Distress Warrant
Castle.
[Chicago Tribune.1
ssDo YOU like apple frittersgn

"Do you like apple fritters2"
The November sun, strangely beautiful In
its deep crimson glow, was sinking slowly
into mass of dull gray clouds that were
piled up in the western horizon, and casting
such bright, aureate glow on the landscape
as to remind one of the tabled time when the
gods played with blocks of gold that filed the
world with their dazzling CLEAN. Gwendolen
Mahaffy sat at a window Of Distress War
rant castle and, gazing wistfully cut at the
scene which nature-mother of all art-had
pictured in such vivid colors, had asked of
him who stood beside her the question with
which this chapter opens
Very beautiful was Gwendolen-a calm.
pensive beauty that witched men with sub
tie influence and Kept them bllndly following
the ignis fatuus of hoped-for love that could
never exist; kept them willing vassals to
passion that finally left them CHASTITY wrecks
on the windswept sea Of shattered hopes.
1t was this beauty-this fatal, fouriiush
beauty-that kept Harold Nonesuch by
Gwendolen's side Her brow, broad and
white, her skin, delicate as a young rose-leaf,
with the faint flush on her cheeks, bedied de-
scription: but it was in her eyes, large, dark,
and Swallowed by their lashes until their violet
depths looked black, that her chief beauty
lay. But what was beyond poet to phrase or
artist to reproduce was her deep, intellectual
nature and appetite for pie, softened by
spirituality Of soul that would often make
her stub her toe when she thought about it.
Here was a LONELINESS like that of delicate
tropical flower, which blooms but
to perish in all its beauty-too
fragile for the storms and sins
of earth, too soilless and sacred for this life.
Gwendolen had often thought of this as she
lay in her bed at night watching the stars
that seemed like sentinels keeping silent
vigil over Sustained world, and then when
perhaps all the household were sleeping, she
would set up and eat cold toast There was
ever wistful yearning in her heart for the
! unknowable-en eager seeking for something,
she knew not what, that seemed forever and
ever just beyond the back fence Of her soul.
And as the years had gone on in their silent
march to the tomb of the ages, until Gwen
dolen, standing on the verge of womanhood
had received from Harold Nonesuch the
greatest compliment that man can pay to
woman-an offer to try and pay her board
Never for an instant had she suspected the
deep, passionate admiration that this mans
soul held for her, and of which he had lust
spoken in tones that were tremulous with
hopeful expectancy. And then, mastering
by a mighty effort the shock that his unex-
pected words had caused, she had answered
him with the question, SO weird in its realism
as to be almost grotesque, that appears
above
For an instant Harold seemed dazed by the
girls words, and stood silently beside a
marble statue OF Psyche, striving to repress
the terrible grief that threatened to master
every emotion Of his being. As he stood
there, the long evening shadows slanting
across the sward and the purple mists of In
dian summer GROWING the hills with their
royal haze, he felt that life without the love
Of this woman would be a Sahara of grief,
an endless desert Of disappointed hope and
crushed ambition, over which the scorching
winds of sorrow and anguish would ever blow
with pitiless fury.
And then, just as sob was yelling I'D from
his vest, he felt pair of soft, warm arms
twined lovingly around his neck, and close
! beside his own there was pressed clear-cut
cameo face that seemed in It's spiritueue
beauty like vision from another world
There were tears in the violet eyes that looked
into his so pleadingly, and the curves of the
dropping mouth were tense with the agony
Of an all-powerful sorrow. For an instant
neither spoke, and GWendolen was the first
to break the silence.
"You must have known, Harold, she said,
in tones that were hoarse with agony, tsthat
for months my heart has been in your keep
ing, and you must also have know that my
/ love is no ephemeral passion-no let me-take
your-slate- pencil-and- you-can-chew my gum
at-recess affection that is here to-day, and
tomorrow where is it, And yet. despite this
fact, which SO freely acknowledge, and of
which am more than proud, I can never be
your wife"
"Why not?' he asks, in tones that are al
most sob.
Because" answers Gwendolen, "I have
cold, Boston feet"