Wichita eagle., 1888-03-02
she murmured, '"and behind US, don't you

she murmured, '"and behind us, DON'T you
hear something"
sit is the wind in the trees or the breaking
of dead limb
They are fortunate who, in the night, IN
the middle OF the forest. can feel as undiS-
turbed as if sitting at their own fireside IL
is hardly feor, but the silence awes one III
voluntarily one looks for eyes among the
shadows. and seeks to define the confused
forms which appear and change at every
moment. A very world creaks and snaps
under your footsteps. and, on stopping, one
hears the plaintive howl Of the distant
watch dog, the hooting owls that call to
each other, and the hundred sounds far and
near that are without explanation some
thing strange surrounds and enyelops you
Are YOU alone, you walk quickly; are you
two. YOU walk closely and the proffered arm
is gladly taken. LILY wife hung upon mine
..Shall we become wood choppers: we
will build a pretty cabin simple but taste
full: would have little curtains at the win
dows. carpet on the floor, my piano In the
corner"
She said all this in half whisper, and
now and then her hand trembled on my arm
"You would soon have enough OF your
cabin, my dear"
ooh! the wretch.T
And then after minute she added
'.You think that do not love you, you and
your boy? Oh, my darliDgs, how love you!
Oh, how much! Oh how much. The happiness
of each day is past expression One sees 1T SO
plainly that one hardly perceives It, II Is
like daily bread; who lifts the hat for 1t! and
vet it is Iife-is it nota But now and then,
when the thoughts turn inward, when one
covers the face with the hands and thinks
one says, am ungrateful, for l am happy,
! and have thanked no one. And still more
| to be together, and to walk arm in arm
STAY like this-it seems light thing this
| moment; ali, WE'LL love you, my darling,
| love you"
She leaned her head upon my arm and
clungTcioseiy to me.
.sGood heaven!" she cried; eff 1 should lose
you'll"
She spoke in a low voice, as il IN fear.
Was it the night or the forest which fright
eued her, or perchance her own wordsa
81 have often dreamed she went on, that
I had spoken to you the last farewell. iou
would cry, both of you, and l should press SO
closely to you that we should seem but one.
These are only dreams, you say, but care
not, since they have shown ME that live In
Won. nv darlings What was that that
cracked? Did you see something cross our
path!'
NV only answer was to fold her in my arms
and press her close to my heart. We went
on walking, but it was impossible to renew
our conversation Now and then she pressed
my arm and stopped me, saying:
"Hush! Listen! No. it is nothing"
At last we saw through the trees little
light, which disappeared from time to time,
now hidden by the trunk of a tree, and then
coming into view again. 1t was the light
that waited for us behind our window curtain.
1t was time: we were wet through.
brought huge log for the fire, and when
the bright flames rose, we sat down in the
great chimney corner ] took off her shoes
and stockings, and held her feet toward the
d fire. shielding them with my hands.
d. 'sThank YOU, my dear, thank you;" she
, said. leaning on my shoulder and looking at
me SO tenderly that the tears filed my eyes.
"What was that which you were saying IN
the woods, little oner' said |, when she was
warm again:
ssYou were thinking of that? Twas afraid
that is all, and when one Is afraid, one sees
phantoms."
Then she threw her arms around me, and
laughing, said:
Come to bed, woodman."
That was, know too well, our last walk
Therefore do I remember it. How Otter
since have travelled that road in the sobel
quiet of closing day. How often have
passed the ferns that her feet had pressed
, and parted the grasses with my hands, poo
fool that was, to find the last print OF bel
footstep. How often have | stopped in th'
glade, under the beeches that showered thei
, drops upon US, and fancied that | saw tn
, swing of her skirts among the shadows.
, seemed to hear her little cries of alarm, and
coming back in the evening air, have foun'
!! ,1pon nv way all the memories that she ha
, left there, from the watch dogs distant bari
? to the cracking of the branches, from To
, trembling other arm to the kiss that l CAV
her.
; Once went back to the wood cutters hu,
r saw once more the good people, the smoS
| cabin, the little bench on which we sat, and
Q asked to drink that l might look al the glas
3 which her lips had touched.
q "And the little lady who made the omele
% SO wells She is not Ill, surelym said the goo
r wife.
Without doubt she saw the tears whic
;, filed my eyes, for she said nothing more, an
Il I went out.
Il So it is everywhere except in my hear
II where time cannot touch her; all that We
J. she is effaced, blotted out, obscured.
q 1t is natures law, but it is cruel! My poe
child! He also learns to forget her, an
when ] ask him, in spite of myself, do yo
70 remember your mother, dear, as she did tn
or that!' be answers yes but l know, ala
l, that he has forgotten. for II
h New York Post from the French of Gusta
|: Droz, by Walter Learned.