Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1889-03-10
A STAGE UNDINE.
CHAPTER l.

The theater was crowded, though the
new play was by 70 means either very
poetic or very brilliant, or, in truth very
highly moral. Possibly in that latter de-
feet lay part OF its attractiveness; never
theless, gorgeous cnlOring, clever if not
graceful dancing, bright music, and free
display of round andsupple limbs-all lent
their quota to the desired result. The
piece was q success. The audience was in
good temper, applAuded everything; the
poorest jokes made it laugh, the aimsiest
sentiment was greeted with effusion, and
the dancing created quite Juror.
In a private box near the stage there
sat, however, a man whose delicate, ssn-
sitive face, and large, Intellectual. looking
head seemed TO denote nature that would
make more ideal demands and have more
fastidious tastes, yet his dark, dreamy
eyes rested on the performance rs if en-
tranced. lie sat back little in the box,
and was partly hidden by the shadow of
a curtain, but had any one cared to watch
him they could have seen that he never
shared either in the mirth or in the cheap
emotion around him. Watching him still
more closely, it might have been noticed
too that his eyes followed one figure alone
in every scene.
No wonder! The girl was supremely
beautiful. She could not be more than
seventeen, probably not so much, and her
beauty had not reached its zenith, yet in
that dawn of unfulilled splendor there
was only more piquant charm.
She creature seemed young with youth
such rs our WORKOUT generation seldom
knows. A youth that bad all the freshness
and the buoyancy OF Hsbe, all the volup-
tuOus promise of CGsar's Cleopatra.
The seemed the very embodiment of
physical life and health IS yet uEawakened
into spiritual Consciousness, as yet mis-
tress, not servant. of thestill dormant soul.
Her eyes were bright aud clear and laugh
ing, the mouth ripe and red and full, and
the girl danced with such abandon. such
absolute enjoyment, that Others infinitely
more skilled and trained had not half the
charm.
The play was nothing to Gilbert Burrel,
the physical representation OF his ideal OF
loveliness was everything. Half post and
halfsculptor, incomplete in everything and
conscious of his incOmpleteness, Gilbert
was at least wholly devoted to beauty. 1t
meant to him the satisfaction Of every
sense, the real 'zation OF every dream, the
blossom OF time, the promise of eternity.
There was in this worship an element OF
selfcOpsciousness, q pitiful remembrance
always present that his own life would
ever be out of harmony with his ideal,
would ever be a discoTdant note in the
symphony Of nature.
Rich enough TO crafty every taste, so
far as money could 90, young enough and
sensuous enough to thrill responsive to
every sight and sound of this beautiful
earth. had not this mans soul not been
cramped and confined in a ruined house o.
clay, life might have be5n for him full to
ovsIfoving with rapture and success. AS
it was, he never could move without q
sense OF humiliation. never could see him
self in the glass without q shiver of repug
nance. never could meet the eyes Of wo-
man without, as ne fancied, a mute COM
passion that was infinitely worse to bear
than indifference would have been.
Great Heaven could love never be his;
only ever, ever this cruel scorning pity,
that made him unable for moment to for
get his burden? Fate had used him harsh
". A babe of twelve months he had fallen
from his careless nurses arms, and a bent
spine and shortened limb were hence
forth his heritage Of pain.
He was weary Of the women of his own
class, the gentle souls that were sweeily
gracious to him, that bore with his petu
lance and forgot 10 resent 1t, that put on no
dainty airs of coquetry, no Sweet tlltteriDg,
provoking reserve, but treating him with a
tender motherlines9 of which he was quick
enough to understand the meaning. He
was "out of the question" where love was
concerned, therefore any amount Of kind
ness was st his service. He had learned
to hate it!
When the curtain fell for a moment he
still sat on, but the light faded from his
face. In the joy of watching absolute
strength and beauty he had almost forgot |
ten himself; now the old pain was once
more present. Slowly he rose and stood |
while hesitating as the house thinned, |
then walked boldly behindthe stage He
was known there, and in q moment was
among the nymphs and fairies Of the ballet.
They we're tired now, and most of them
looked faded and depressed, but instantly |
his eyes lighted on the radiant creature he
sought.
There was no weariuess visible about
her even yet, and she stood laughingly eI-
ecutine a pas seid as q final flourish when |
Gilbert entered. Another moment he was |
bowiug before her as profoundly as to
Duchess. Then he raised his eyes TO meet
hers with quick questioning, dreading to
read in them pity or contempt. 0fthe form
er he need not have been afraid, for those
shining or5s hsd never yet been wet By
sympathetic tears, and for the latter the
fair Celia would never have dreampt offeel-
irg for a man that dressed so well, and
wore such magnificent diamond as that
which spanked on Gilbart's finger. The
flash oft had caught her glance the mo-
ment be approached.
For good or i'll, from that moment Gil
bert Burrell's life was altered.