The San Antonio light. (San Antonio, Tex.) 1883-1886, 1885-06-20
A Great temptation.

llcautN Is a nNiu tllilN 10 utiiile anu
limit. hut II was a beauty of 40 q
derful or unusual type, and was of that
kind which grows uu Ouc gradually, as
his knowledge of the posscssor " II
grows. There was u wealth Of sweet
ness and purity shining up IN her eyes,
which tears could never wash out, and
the mouth indicated hrmncss and rcso-
luton. which had its beginning long be-
fore the nights vigil which had left II
80 stcrnly agoniZptl.
The trouble which has come TO Alice
Arndcn is of no unusual kind. II Is
sudden sOrrOw, which has crushed out
all hope in life many times in the past,
and viii many times In the future as
long as men and maidens are proud and
willful. One may say, "unly u lovers
quarrel" but should remember that
there are heart tragedies in this world,
under the tortured f which men and wo-
men drag out long lives without finding
peace. To Alice Amden IT seemed rs
though everything worth having in life
was now forever utterly beyond her
hope.
She arose from the seat she had oc-
cupied for 50 long and moved slowly
around her humble room. She had not
known until she moved how much she
was suffering phy sically; how cold II
was. how cramp"d and weary she WAS.
There was really little to do. Her bed
had not been used. her room was in or
der. She had plenty Of time 10 prepare
herself for the task of covering her sor-
row from I'll" gaze of her fricnds-if she
could.
She made n tire, and iato the tire she
rcmorsply put all the fragments of pa
per which she had spoiled In her efforts
10 write a simple letter long ago when
her sorrow was new. Long ago. Last
night, Happiness gives wings of light
ness to eternity dying about our being
and so-callcd time rather than cteurityl.
which We roughly measure and call
minutes and seconds; but sorrow
weights their noiseless feet with lead.
Mr.. George Fcnhy WAS next among
the actors in this little fragment of hui
man life.
lie sat ut his window that morning rs
Alice Arudcu sat ut hers. His window
looking in the same direction; from IL
he saw much the same scene she saw.
The stars faded ont for him Hs for her;
day frightened. the sunlight fell across
his face.
But he sat there with a cheerful fire
near him; he was strong from happy
sleep; his eyes were bright and cheerful,
and looked rs though tears had always
lffl NAlNllEflN III Alltiils anu Ills llIN
were smiling.
The icy marshes seemed to him atype
Of the future. Smooth, white, pure
the tight stretching across them-and
with the ocean outside standing to him,
rs to her. ~ a type of CtcTuity-an etcT-
nifty which he felt would be one Of
strength and happiness.
George Fcnhy Thought of what he had
to hc thankful for, this lovely morning.
a small fortune, enough for himself
and une other, u fair woman, as good as
iair-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. lie looks
like n man who would not do a wicked
thing, or think II, while he might do u
weak or foolish me lie vas "A man
who would be likely TO win a woman's
heart-and hold ii; Il man whose love n
woman might prize, and the loss Of
which she might wisely mourn. Weak
enough to be II man, he was strong
enough to he one hard to win from the
life which had once had him.
There was II happy smile on his face
MS he heard his little brother knock at
the door, and he answered Come in"
in a CHEEKY voice.
Here's "a letter for you, George
THANK YOU" said George, as he
took II.
you are welcome. by the hand
writing ON the envelope | judge the
message will be a pleasant one"
And the boy left the room.
y pleasant message. The smile deep.
ened on the mans face as he lovingly
handled the letter a little time before
he broke the seal. A pleasant messagel
These were the words lp read.
MIR. GEORGE FENBY-I will not con-
sent to be any longer a hindcrer reg arding
yOur "higher ambition" | never wish to
speak with you again In my life. | give
you back your freedom.
ALICE ARSDEN.
So Mr.. Fenby's morning gift was the
gift of his freedom. What should he
do with it, His cheeks and lips grew
cold and white ut the thought. Merci-
full heavens! What could he do with il?
The sky seemed darkcned, the earth
seemed dreary and desOlate. George
Fcnby and Alice Arnden, Il bare quar-
ter of n mile apart, could not have been
more widely separated had an ocean
stretched between them. And each
looked on the same landscape and saw
alike at last.
The village of Marsham was n small
one. and most of II vas farther from
wv N'fflll AllNl WIN AlF ANh llbAlNlN ~
the windows of which we have seen two
unhappy persons.
1t was d relief to both George and
Alice that there was service in the little
church that morning. and everybody
could be looked for there. Secret sOr-
row finds a certain abatement of its in.
tensity In the effort of appearing .un'
concerned. Then there is a mournfuI
pleasure in seeing what one has lost.
In "A place no larger than Marsham
everyone knows everybody else. Every.
one knows the business of everybody
else in some degree. or think so, and
says so. So our two friends were known
and their relations to each other were
known also. And so poorly had they
played their parts. that when service
was finished nearly all their friends
had concluded that their engagement
was over, and many were specializing
as to the reason for ii.
Ralph Warden was too shrcwd a MAJ
not to see what every one else saw. Ill
said but little about it, MS he spoke Il
one and another after church, but III
was deeply Interested and very mucl
puzzled. The time had been when TIN
gOssips had connected his anne will
that of Alice Aruden, and there wer
those who had shaken their heads whei
il became cvidr mt that she had beel
won by George Fenby, instcado of Ralph
Ralph had never spoken O'Alice o
love, and we will respect his reserve
What he cared for her may remain
sealed book.
George Fcnby walked home alone
Ralph Warden came the same road, bu
aqliarter of Il mile behind him. Som
distance out of the village Ralph sud
denly came upon two papers, resting o