Fort Worth weekly gazette. [volume] (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1882-1891, 1889-08-15


this be explained?
Entreaty was vain. 'sTake me, Roy /;
take me on the water was her only
plant.
Combined with fear of a scene finally
decided it, and throwing my travelling
shawl about her, ] fastened to where my
own boat was safely moored, and soon we
were drifting with the tide.
This hayward girl / had known from
babyhood, we had been neighbors. L,
her chosen companion and unfailing de-
fender. But now what an enigma,
solve it l could not, this mood [ had
never seen. Something had shaken her
and 1 must wait until calm should settle
upon her pertubed spirit.
Silently we foated on, the moon now
shone out in silyery brightness, and the
broken waves that followed in our wake
were dimpling smiles upon the placid
surface of the sea.
1 watched closely for a sign from my
companion. Only sigh and less rapid
clutching of her fingers were all that be-
tokened any calming. Yes, the face
was losing its tenseness, the deepened
lines were melting into the softer curves,
and felt that soon she would speak.
Troy, where does the tide go? Don t
pull against it, LEI us float on it-yes,
float on it away from the world, from all
its evil speaking and its renown
She was not expecting an answer, and
l was silent; but my ear caught the
ravishing measure of the waltz, and
there came on the night air faint watt
of sense-benumbing odor. Why was it?
Who can tell?
"Roy, she continued, ''they say
must not love you; you, my earliest
friend; you, who have been to me my
only BROTHER
Thank God, the strain of music dies.
Oh. the bright-haired boy! How loving
ly he smiles. "'Tell me, Roy, you are
not so wicked; tell me, is no one good?
'Sitting in the alcove where you left
me I heard such unkind things OF you; of
you. my hero, my poor, lonely Roy, and
Charley says I may not love you, and
mamma, who used to be so kind, you re-
member that, says l must not treat you
as my old-time friend. / could not bear
il; you, who never refused me anything
l wanted to get away from 1t all, and |
knew you would take me- L IN better
now; the sea is free, the world is
sitting. -
While this talk went on, for. really it
was soliloquy, l had headed the boat
for the shore and was revolving in my
mind how l should answer the innocent
child who felt her faith so shaken that
life itself was distasteful.
Now, had never regarded myself a
specially great sinner. l had even felt
some flushings of self-approval when 1
compared myself with others, but to-
night this impulsive girl had led me into
10 IF nd hn
temptation of myself was not satisfac-
tory.
s How was 1, man of the world to meet
this trustfulness? She was very beauti-
tiful in her distress, she had said, "the
sea was free. l could not feel her
warm breath on my cheek, but the
stroke of oar was waltz time, why should
stand so much that might be happiness
upon a censorious shore? One, two,
three: one, two three; why not waltz on?
Life might as well be a ball room as a
battlefield.
So fierce had been the questi oning that
the boat struck the bank with considera-
bic force, and wakened both of us from
reveries.
''Are you taking me home. Roy? What
have | done?''
Burying her face in her hands sob after
sob convulsed her; / waited, now l could
wait for softer arms were around my
neck, few moments more, and then
tenderly as a mother might take her.,
tired child lifted her upon the shore
Gently supporting her. in low voice l
soothed her, / told her some of the story
that had shocked her. l talked to her Of
my better self, Of the days when a tiny
creature l would let her guide my boat on
the'Quiet stream that was near our home,
/ beguiled her with talk of my travel,
and finally 1 felt that she was listening.
l told her of my baby boy; of his sweet
prattle; [ even tried to give his very tone
when he lisped: Papa - don t know
why l did it, but even the memory made
me strong.
1.-The boat, Roy; it is drifting away!'
''Neyer mind, little one; we are not
i'll it -
No; it bore out to sea wild dreams and
haunting memories, but heaven had been
merciful; she and | stood on the shore.
I went on: ''Little one, now you must
90 quietly to your room, for day is dawn
ing; think of tonight as if it had never
been. Perhaps Charlie and mamma are
right, but think of your childhood IS
friend as kindly as you can, and when
you grow more WOIIuiY wise sweet Wool
land flower, do not grow uncharitable
No human heart is utterly black There
is somewhere in the sad taugle q tiny
thread of gold that binds to better things;
let it be your mission to seek it out. To-
morrow l set out for foreign lands,
very Salathiel; have no abiding place. -
We were nearing the door, and l dared
say no more, then-how it came
/ do not know, but in the soft morning
light when roseate tints touched sea and
sky kissed that pure white forehead, it
was kiss that needed not heaven IS par
don; no clustered nun was more sacred,
The kiss was benediction, and she passed
from my sight.
Five years I've been a wanderer, all
that life of travel affords l have
grasped. Have been q saint? oh, no,
at thirty-th men do not change readi-
ly. we quaffed many cups, I've danced
in many wild measure, but there are
times when the fragrance of my cigar,
the soft plash of water and the fitful
cleaning of cloudy moonlight stir me,
then dream OF life that might have
been. 1 can only blame myself, 1 know
now that 1 wantonly dashed from me
much of happiness.
The woman who carries that key is