Wichita eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1886-1890, 1890-02-27
WAITING.

"H you were alone in the world would
not ask you not to love me; but dare not
take you from large and happy home CIR
Gle and doom you TO life of poverty and
drudgery with me.
"Sone men do it, know, but could not.
1t would go against every instinct of my man.
hood, every principle of my life
''When first / felt the sway of this pas
sion; when first OWNED the powerful Atm
ity of your soul for mine, tried to go away
Il did 60 away, as you know; but it was not
in nature for love to Keep silence forever, and
in that one weak moment before left, l let
you see my heart, and-God help mel saw
yours"
He hid his eyes. Hecould hurt her when it
was for her ultimate good; but he could not
watch her face grow whittier and whittier in its
pain.
'Oh, if you could know how often I have
wished had died, ere ever 1 brought this
trouble into your life!
TRY to be happy. Try to be joyous and
glad as of old-the simple childlike woman
first loved--or else 1. shall feel criminal in
deed
Il am going away now-going away to get
well and strong that l may work like other
Iltl, 1uu Wucu 1 nave SOIucCutUG more UC
offer than my miserable self-but no, that
time is too far off. You must be as free as a
bird, Margaret; not even a word must bind
you. We are neither of US to blame-we did
not seek this love; it came to us both unbid-
den, but it is best we should part. l know
it is best, and, believe me, it is all for you.
VIII you trust me?"
His lips trembled and his breath came in
gasps-the proud mans sobs, as he stood be-
fore the woman he loved and pleaded for her
future against his own.
Too well he knew the generous nature and
how ready it was to sacrifice, and for that
reason forced himself to be hard.
And she. All! God has made her sex very
helpless. Could she tell him that while you
may lift the latch and loose bird from its
cage, you cannot free with word the heart
of woman-that better life with him in a
hut on the prairie than existence in another
mans palace-that poverty shared is Sam
son shorn of his strength, and work for one
you love is the prose of life set to music
No, she must be dumb-self becalmed in the
silence and chill of reserve, while her whole
being was one rebellious protest against the
cruel masculine decree.
Separation, silence, indefinite waiting.
These were the conditions, and she was a
woman and loved him!
She was woman and loved him. and be-
cause of that she hushed her pain, and
framed her lips into the shadowy semblance
of smile as she took his outstretched hand
1t was a piteous smiie-we see it on the
faces of mothers when they send their first
born to battle, the last brave cheer of heart
before it breaks; and the eyes uplifted to his
were strained wide with that sudden over
knowledge of life that suffering brings.
He could not meet their gaze
1t were easier to look on the murdered
dead. Had he killed her soul9
His reeiing steps found the door, and he
fed before all courage left him
He knew he was doing right, but it was so
cruel that it wore the look of wrong
For a long time she stood where he left her,
staring at a small black speck in the wall pa
pering above the mantei-was it a fly or a
break in the paper? But when she reached
her room and put out the Light, she took the
slender right hand that ached vet from that
last fierce wrench, and covered it with tears
and kisses; kisses that fell softly now as on
the dead, and now wildly, passionately, as
we press the lips of the living.
When we are waiting for dream to come
true or dear wish to be fulfilled we first count
by days, then by weeks, by months and
twelvemonths, until at last, disciplined by
much patient habit of hoping and rehoping,
''next year" seems as close as our childish
''to morrow"
So Margaretcanceled the days after awhile;
but it took her long, as it does us all, to real
ize that Time exacts his same number of min
l. A.
whether we be
Swift or slow,
Mad with JOY or dumb with woe
She worked constantly and steadily-she
was poor as he was-and laughed and sang at
her tasks sometimes, for the heart does not
give up its habits any more readily than the
mind but she felt that something had slipped
away-something that had made the skies a
deeper blue and the grass richer green
The bright tints with which youth paints
the world had dried on the brush, and she
wist not how to mix the coiors anew.
1t is when we are glad that we want the
day, the blaze of light, the sunshine; but
when pain struck and weary, we ask only for
some place in which TO hide-somewhere
where the soul can slip for space the re-
straints of the body, and stand face to face
with itself
Long ago, in compassionate pre-knowledge
Of this, God said: LET there be night as well
as day" and since then into the sympathetic
ear of the dark, whose thousand eyes, are
sightless, have been sobbed the secrets OF all
the restless and grief laden of earth: and
Margaret, like the rest, carried her sorrows
there and wept her tears in the safe cover of
its gloom.
Sometimes in the long years that followed
letter would come and it was always kind
but it never said Il am coming and those
were the words she was thirstiDg TO hear
Poor child, How was she 70 know. " i h
out assurance. that his love had not grown
cold-perhaps died'
She had listened 50 long at the wall of
space in vain for sound from the other side !;
had looked into distance with eyes that
burned. but were powerIess TO pierce; had
hored until the nerves OF her soul achei had
lulled longing with dreams quieted inpa-
thence with faith, only TO find at last that you
can no more nourish a starving heart on such
unsubstantials than You can satisfy with q
crust hungry child
In time the body responded to this subtle
sickness of the soul with that fine sympathy
Iounu oniS AZ ee1oaAe of eaAA-1Ni"aS, 49,
when day came that hope lay slain. the MI
nor forces gave way, too. and never again an
swsred 20 natures raiIying call.
Before tie worn spirit took its fight Il ex-
pended ail OF itSeif that was earthly N one
sad, yearnIng cry tie .-->5 's--l 81 49, ------
passion ere il changed mac tie spiritual:
Dear one, let me say II S,is o-sce, II tee 81
cred unressrve Of DEATH sove yea 50!
mo che ever put il into words but NO
man:
- lore thee 70 the level OF every d1rs
MOct us1ic. n@s..; hr SIN ard candle lirTs