San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-02-24

and down for an hour or more under the
trees, from which q few frosty leaves were
still hanging in the December air.
He himself had been so stunned and be-
wildered by the loss which had fallen upon
him, that, when he found himself alone and
out of doors again, he was for a while
scarcely able tC think consecutively about it.
He walked along conscious for some time of
nothing but sort Of dumb physical con-
geniality in the sunshine, in the clear blue
and white of the sky, in the cheerful distinct
ness and sharpness of every outline. And
then, little by little, the cheated grief reas-
serted itself, the numbed senses woke into
painful life, and he fell into broken musings
on the past, or into a bitter wonder over the
precarious tenure by which men hold those
good things whereOn, so long as they are still
their own, they are so quick TO rear an edifice
Of optimist philosophy. \ week before, his
sisters affection had been to him the one suffi-
Gent screen between his own consciousness
and the deSOate threatening immensities of
thought and of existence. The screen had
fallen, and tho darkness seemed to be rush
ing in upon him And still, life had to be-
lived, work to be got through, duties to be
faced. How is it donel he kept vaguely won
dering. How is it that men live on to old
age and see bond after bond broken, and pos
session after possession swept away, and still
find the years tolerable and the sun pleasant,
still cherish in themselves that inexhaustible
faith in an ideal something which supplies
from century to century the invincible mo-
tive power of tho race!
PreSently-by virtue of long critical and
philosophical habit-his mind brought itself
to bear moro and moro steadily upon his own
position; he stepped back, as 10 were, from
himself and became his own spectator The
interpretive temper was not common with
him; his mind was naturally turned outward
towards other people, towards books, to-
ward intellectual interests. But self study
had had its charm for him of late and,
among other things, it was now plain to him
that up to the moment Of his first meeting
with Isabel Bretherton his life had been
mostly that of an onlooker-a bystander.
Society, old and new, men and women of the
past and of the present, the speculative
achievements of other times and of his own
these had constituted sort of vast drama
before his eyes, which he had watched and
studied with an ever living curiosity But
his interest in his particular role had been
comparatively weak and in analyzng other
individuahtieS he had run some risk of losing
his own.
Then love came by, and the half dormant
personality within him had been seized upon
and reused, little by little, into a glowing,
although a repreSSed and hidden energy He
had learned in his own person what it means
to crave, to thirst, to want And now, grief
had followed and had pinned him more
closely than ever to his special little part in
the human spectacle The old loftineSs, the
old placidity Of mood, were gone. He had
loved and lost, and despaired. Beside those
great experiences how trivial and evanesceDt
seemed all tho interest of the life that went
before theml IIo looked back over his inter-
course with Isabel Bretherton, and the points
upon which it had turned seemed SO remote
from him, so Insignificant, that for the mo-
ment he could hardly realize them. The ar
tistic and aesthetic questions which had
seemed TO him so vital six months be-
fore had faded almost out of view in the
fierce neighborhood of sorrow and passion.
His first relation to her had been that of one
who knows to one who is ignorant; but that
puny link had dropped, and he was going to
meet her now, fresh from the presence of
death, loving her as a man loves q woman,
and claiming from her nothing but pity for
his grief, balm for his wound-the answer Of
human tenderness to human need.
How strange and sad that she should be
still in ignorance of his loss and hers! In the
early morning after Maries death, when he
woke up from few heavy hours of sleep, his
mind had been full Of her How was the
news to be broken to herr He himself did
not feel that he could leave his brother-in-
law. There was q strong regard and SYM
patty between them; and his presence in the
house of mourning would undoubtedly be
useful to Paul for a while; besides, there
were Maries words, will you stay with him
a few days-afterF' which were binding on
him He must write, them but it was only to
be hoped that no newspaper would bring her
the news before his letter could reach.
However, as the day wore on, Paul came
noiselessly out Of the quiet room where the
white shrouded form seemed still to spread a
tender presence round it, and said to Eustace,
with dry, piteous lips:
81 have remembered Miss Bretherton; you
must go to her tomorrow, after - the
funeral"
81 can't bear the thought of leaving you,"
said Kendall, laying a brotherly hand on his
shoulder.
Lot me write today"
Paul shook his head "She has been i'll.
Any way, it will be a great shock, but if you
go it will be better"
Kendall resisted little more, but it seemed
as IL Marie's motherly carefuIness over the
bright creature who had charmed her had
passed into Paul He was saying what Marie
would have said, taking thought as she would
have taken it for one she loved, and it was
settled as he wished.
When his long pacing in the Champs
Ill II.al Cd