The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1884-05-31

She drew rather deeper breath and
made no spoken answer.
Down at the far horison the late moon
was rising, vague and cloudy A ghostly
light, bringing in its wake mysterious shad-
ows, spread slowly as the moon drowsily
lifted herself and dropped the mists from
her shoulders. The man, looking down, in
this clearer light, to the water, started and
said, ''It is coming up much faster"
She stopped and looked. Then their
eyes, lifting, sought each other. Both
faces were pale in the moonlight On both
sat the human shrinking from this upward
crawling fate. Yet it was something to
see each other.
"How long is it to morning ?" she asked.
He drew out his watch, but there came
cloud across the moon and they had to
wait.
at is just past twelve" said he.
Perhaps they will come out by moon
light"
perhaps" said he But neither of
them had any trust in the hope.
He had seen in the moment when they
looked at each other that she was indeed
younger than his first supposition, though
hardly so young as his second. She might
be fve-and-twenty. It was not the face of
girl She had returned to her former
position, and now, leaning back against the
chimney, lifting up her face to the sky.
Her eyes were closed and her lips drawn
in. There was but time to look once be-
fore the lips curved again into smile and
the eyes opened to a calm gaze
The man sitting by her heard the chang
ing and deepening tone of the water as it
came up and up.
"You are too young for this" said he
abruptly.
His voice had changed and deepened
like the tone of the water.
"No, nc" she answered after moment.
Don't trouble about me-"
II do trouble about you. It's horrible
horrible p
She again kept silence for little space
then she said "When l heard you say
that-in the boat, and get up to stay,
felt, suddenly, as if it was a cruel thing not
to stay with you, too-as well as to save
them"
She had been obliged to speak the last
words loudly, for the wind rose suddenly
and fiercely, and the shock of the water
broke noisily on the walls And as she
ceased came terrible crash; the whole
building creaked and swayed, there were
heavy splashes in the water, and water
spouted over them as they caught and
clung to each other. Long hair was blown
before his face. They held each other
fast, painting and trembling. She freed a
hand and drew aside her hair. There was
sound of water running, trickling, and
dropping. The calm moon pursued her
leisurely pathway, passed out from behind
a cloud, and showed them that the platform
at the other end of the house had given
way, and the stack of chimneys opposite
had fallen.
''lf it had been these !" said he.
They crouched nearer together, each
still holding to the other The fear in
each mind now was the fear of being di-
vided, of losing all human companionship.
The waters were rising faster, rising, as it
seemed, with malignant, hungry joy.
at can't be long now," said the man.
"No,' said she.
There were a few more lifelong moments
in which they sat silent, breathing hard.
The wild gust of wind abated; the moon
found a wide, open archway among the
clouds the face of the waters grew by
comparison still again.
"And so, said he, ''it was for me you
staid, and even at the end 1 can't 90 away
in peace without pulling down some one
else. And you, who staid, are stranger,
and we shall die here together, strangers.
Oh, the irony of this world All my life
[ have been solitary and deserted 1t has
been my fault-no doubt it has been my
fault; and now life is over. It's all too
late, and there's no time"
She remained silent, and the monoto-
nous pulse of the water throbbed below.
"But if, by any miracle, we should be
saved, at least we know each other now,
said he
"Do we? Well the depths, perhaps, of
each other, but not the shadows. If we
were to be saved we should feel like friends
till we came to land, and then you would
go your way and mine and if we were
to meet once week for twelvemonth we
should speak to each other at first, and
then we should nod and smile, and by and
by we should pass and take no notice.
No, what knowledge or friendship we have
does not belong to this life ep'
'You believe, then, in another?"
| =, Al. Ii.
life, SO much as that l can't believe in
death, We could not be capable of so
much, and desirous of so much, and moth
ing come. We have not half enough. I feel
so much, much more. No, lam not afraid.
There's more
He in turn was silent. Perhaps he for
bore, out of pity, to put forth word against
her hope; perhaps in his soul, too, a like
hope, which he had taken to be long dead
began to stir and murmur.
The moon had put on minute by min
ute, fuller glory; it was illumining an
arch of clouds, and beyond the arch lay
measureless, liquid, lucid depths. She
looked and pointed upward. The full
glow shone on her face He saw in hel
dark eyes slow ineffable softening; in all
the lines of her features breathed spirit
of exultant reception.
"The open doorway of infnity," said he,
fitting to this radiance its apt poetic de.
scription, but without anything of the
poets rapture or belief, Her lips moved
to recognizing smile.
"And can you look up to that and des
pair ?" she asked.
'That has no voice for me. 1t is too
far off, too silent, too unmoved. That
glory may come back, as serene, to look
down on my drowned face. But you have
to die with me. What hope there is in
life or death you have shown me. don't
know that it is lasting or that it is good for
much; but such as it is, it comes from you. u
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