The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1886-07-25

knowing what shame he had said OF meg TO
wed with a vaquero! came here to the patria
of my lover, to find him if might, to die In his
own land if / missed him. But it is far-the
distances are great / knew Marcial was here;
he and his were ever faithful servitors Of my
father, and he has given me such home rs he
has"
You shonld at least have staid to procure
money. You had right to that"
THAT money whose greed was the cause OF my
misfortunel Better to starve! Could but hno
Ricardo-what need, what care for money!
Ali my practical disapproval all my worldly
wisdom, covers back, abashed by this unques-
tioning, unwavering faith ia her lovers con-
stancy, this simple confidence in his unselfsh.
sterling patience. This is the grandest human
trait | have ever known-it is sublime the
apotheosis of the doctrine that casts man in the
image of his Maker.
day, with his swart, weather beaten face anxious
and troubled. Donna Anatolita is very i'll. he
says; II am fool-a miser! a brute beast.
Not to know-not to see why she grew always
sicker! delicate flower that never felt the wind.
to live like us! to share our hardships! even
jesus mio-even to work! And there she
lies on the floor, but patient like holy Mary!
while the rain drips on her head and the
cough tears her heart till her lips are wet with
blood"
all your blankets! Pile on the cedar logs till the
floor is dry as bone Keep her alive few hours
more, and she shall come to us!"
Our house is large, bat yet not adequate to the
family need; and so the room we hastily fl up is
in house across the way, ali dry and warm,
and thick adobe walls, proof against all wind.
We improvise bright draperies. and all that may
give cheer, and the patient, feeble woman short
~ lies there, her eyes full of grateful tears pro-
testing against our trouble in her behalf. There
is no doubt the change adds unspeakably to her
comfort But, alas! she does not rally. All
that we can say, all that we can do, we do and
say; but Anatola fails and fades before our
eyes. One or another is with her always lest
she pass away alone, as spark expires.
Chan comes home one evening after coach
time with an eagle look on his young face.
IA letter from Dr. Soule.a he says, cycling the
bold inscription; IF he would only come out
here, believe he could cure Anatolia" Our be-
lief as family in the skill of our old physician
is supreme.
HE is coming announce, reading the mis-
sive; ''but Dr. Soule can work no miracles; he
cannot save Anatolia Perhaps he may give her
relief"
DR. Soule is only day behind his letter We
make him very welcome. He is grand old man,
with leonine head and heart of gold In the
world he is known as excelling in his profession,
OF unquestioned integrity and purity of life. but
withal somewhat stern, and the terror or evil
doers For ME he is simply the truest and the
tenderest of men. He loves me, too, for the
sake of the dear dead daughters who were my
dearest friends. 1t is thus that have come to
know how desolate and hollow is his life Mrs.
Soule lives for fashion Her hands are tremu-
lous with age, yet she tricks herself out in a
pitiful travesty of youth. with the gauds of a
girl of sixteen. I have an idea too, that DR.
Soule has tragedy in his life-one Of the keen
heart-historieS that leave scar, though the
wound shall have healed lang syne Bot the
brave old man endures and makes no moan. He
is not one to wear his heart on his sleeve nor to
retail out the story of his family skeleton. He
looks haggard and weary now; the traces OF the
years begin to tell But the old grim humor is
there the same occult twinkle OF eye and
Whimsical turn of speech.
''Well. child, what is your last fad?" he says
as / sit over against him at his solitary supper
for he has contrived to arrive without our know
ing the day, and belated coach has brought
him long after the dinner hour, when all the
household are gone, save myself, and my mother
across the way with Anatolia. II believe numis-
mates and the study of Chinese were the last
hobbies. Perhaps you are studying now the
language of the lower animals, and may pre-
pare to hold sweet converse with the affable
horned toadW
Indeed" declare, 81 have had no heart for
hobbies. We have sick friend here, a patient
for you. She is past even your cure. but you
may spare her pain. She Mexicau-Sina.
loense."
His face grows hard and whitens. "Then bet
ter hasten her death! OF all traitorous, worth
less beings that breathe the Sinaloeuse are the
falsest and the worst"
A perfect rage comes over me as he speaks;
stamp my foot till the dishes fairly jingle. DIR.
Soule! how dare you be so brutal That is the
first unmanly speech have heard from you. /
love the Sinaloenses!'
'And so did until one of Thorn wrecked my
life. Child. has it never seemed to you strange
that /, who stunned the who'd race of Mexican
descent, should have named my first. born
Tolita9n
My mother comes softly in. sShe wakes. and
wants you"
The cedar fire is blazing in Antolia's room;
tail lamps are on the mantel, and the place is
diant with happy light. 1t falls with even dis
tribution on the face of the sick woman and the
countenance of the physician. Anatolita starts
from her pillows and stretches toward him her
poor. wasted hands II have not waited in
vain,n she cries, and the Joy in her voice is as
the rejoicing of angels; me is true and he could
but come"
steal away as the old man kneels beside her.
He comes to US later on, with his stately head
bent meekly 'Tell me-, he says. what shall
do in honor. I forfeited my own life's happiness
and hers by my evil pride, believing the first
sertion against her truth, and accepting it with
out proving. l renounce my Judgment now-do
you judge for me. Shall for truths sake slay
her lifelong trust by confession of my incon-
stancy, or shall leave it TO be told her where
pain and disappointment enter not2 Would that
be falseness objectionable? Would wrong the
graves of my dead?"
lie looks from one TO Inc .otner. MY motner
looks at me.
Her life, say, "has been one long devo-
ton. Though you should lose your soul for her
sake, you could not recompense her prolonged
anxiety and distress. Would you add to her
suffering now thousandfold2 You have no
right to speak and undeceive her. Let her die
happy as she has lived in sorrow
"Child, you are hard, he says, 'but you are
just. Do you say with your daughter?"
My mother answers, Yes"
have seen wan, aged faces, after death. take
on the beauty and the peace of youth but have
seen no other living countenance so TRANSPORTED
as the face of Anatolia Castro, luminous with a
trust and thankfulness divine. She is not unde-
ceived. Her lover is faithful in her thought; he,
too, has been constant through the waste of DESC
late years; thus the tenderness and the gladness
of his presence have brought her back the beauty
of her youth.
"Draw back the curtains, dearest friends
would see the blessed daylight once more on his
face" she says, as the dawn is breaking. And