The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-08-19

i near the lar SOunu OF lOrseIIul StTNe.
And fear forlorn doth my soul forebode.
What hast thou done with my lover, my life.
wcrld that begins at the bend OF the road?
A. w. BELLAw In Detroit Free Press.
A WOMAN'S LETTER.
Lochaven was an ideal place in summer
time, but Philip Bronson did not appear to
be keeny alive to its beauty. AS he sat in
the picturesque little summer-house that
stood in the middle of the smooth-s haven
lawn skirting Mrs. Leary's cosy cottage,
there was q frown Oh his face almost as
black as the clouds that were rapidly rising
out of the west and obscuring the clear,
blue sky. This was rather surprising, mas
much as he was almost within speaking dis
lance of the woman who of all others in the
whole wide world seemed to him the most
lovely and lovable. The trouble was Philip
was far from sure that she was also loving,
and that doubt was what stified his hap
piness.
Up in the bay-window above him sat
Winifred Erskine, his promised wife, and
woman in whom the instinct of Irritation
largely prepOnderated. She was writing
letter. Philip ould see her little white hand
move back and forth over the paper and
the perfect contour of her head outlined
against the crimson drapery behind which
she sat. She certainly made a charming
picture, and one that Philip might have
been expected to contemplate with feelings
of pride and pleasure. Instead of that he
was angry and reSeItful.
Winifred had not looked up up once, and
he had been there half an hour. He pre-
sumed that she knew of his presence, but
refused to take any notice OF him. Obyi-
ously she had not forgiven him for his
sharp words the night before, when he had
accused her of flirting with Harmer Terry.
Philip had not a sanity temper. you see;
nor had Winifred either, for that matter.
The course of true love with them had been
often troubled and turbulent.
Philip was frightfully jealous, unfor-
tunately, and Winifred was most prOvok-
ing. girl.
81 cannot stand this much longer" he
said to himself, as he watched the gathering
Storm Il could not b3 more miserable if |
were to lose her altogether. She cannot
love me or she would not act as she does,
and l do not want a wife in whom l cannot
have confidence. She is perfectly heartless.
l see that plainly. Then why do | love her
so? Why is it that the thought of giving
her up is like the bitterness Of death il
self?"
He glanced up at the window again, but
Winifred had gone The gusty breeze was
Swaying the curtains to and fro, fluttering
the loose sheets OF paper she had left lying
on the table.
Sometimes the very accidents Of lite con-
spire against US. Fate seemed to have de-
termined on WinIfred's undoing. She had
hardly left the window before the frolicsome
wind had snatched up piece of paper and
whirled il away.
1t crcled in mid air. rose and fell futter-
ing and floating on the breezy air. till at
length 1t sank, by a strange fatality, at
Philips very feet
He glanced at it indifferently. 1t was
covered with writing in a masculine hand
unfamiliar to him. He picked it up and
was about to put it in his pocket intending
to return it that evening, when his eyes fell
on the words, "Winifred, my darling" and
the initial HI" with which the letter was
signed.
Philip was man of honor. but he
thought he was entitled to know who it
was that addressed his batrothed in this
lover-like fashion. He read every word
of the letter, which was filled with the most
passionate utterances. Its testimony was
irrefutable. 1t blasted his last hope of hap
piBeSS.
40 Winifred. Winifred!" he groaned.
"Why have you deceived me? If you had
told me of this. l could have borne it;
but, oh, my God! to lind you SO utterly
false -
Poor Philip! He bowed his head on the
table before him, obivious TO the pelting
rain-dr0ps that fell through the lattice roof
of the summer house. He was conscious
only of the fatal letter before him, which he
knew too well had been written by Harmer
Terry.
"Winifred, my darling. think of the unhap-
pinesS. Why viii you not consent TO 90
with me at once? 1t is almost more than
my love can bear to see you so constantly
in the society of my rival. The plan | pro-
posed last evening would be solution of
all our difficulties. II you would marry me
secretly, Winifred. l would be content to
wait years ere l claimed you. But this pro-
baton is killing me-"
Hnw the words hurnp1 them Snlvns intO
Philips heart and brain! The rain thatfell
unnotced on his throbbing head was pnNer-
less to ease the pain they caused. They
rang in his ears above the roll Of the thunder
that peaied through the air; they flashed
before his eyes in characters more flaming
than the lightning that Illuminated the sky.
He felt as though he were going mad.
He had had his jealous doubts and fears,
but back of them all his love had whispered
words of hope and encouragement. In his
heart he had never finally abandoned his
faith in Winifred. He had believed that
she would repent of her foolish trifiing by
and by. But now all hope was dead in his
heart 1t lay ruined and shattered thing,
from which life had been rudely wrested.
Hardly knowing what he did, he rose and
went out In the pouring rain. Down the
garden path he strobe, and out OF the gate
toward the woods a half-mile off.
He walked on and on. never needing the
awful crashes of thunder his white face
stamped with look of utter misery.
All, Winifred Winfred! you should have
seen your work Would it have given You
any satisfaction had you seen your lover
lying pale and apparently lfeless on the
moist earth, where he had been hurled by
the flying fragments of tree which the
lightning had shattered?
where is Mr.. Bronson?" Mrs. Leary in
quired, US her guests assembled at the tea
table, when the storm was we'll over. HAS
any one seen him?"
81 saw him do very foolish thing" her
husband observed. "He went out about
o'clock, when it was just pouring down. l
called to hial, but lie did not answer me-"
where did he go, do you think"' Mrs.
Leaiy asked anXiously.
in the direction Of the woods" Mr..
Leary replied. Il can't imagine what was
his idea in going out in such a storm. He
hadn't even an umbrella"
''He ought to be back by this time, john"
Mrs Leary observed uneasly.
Winifred Erskine, in a lovely toilet OF
Powered foul0rd and Spanish lace, sat be-
side Mr.. Terry with apparent composure.
Her face was trifie pale. though, and her
eyes unconsciously turned toward The door
with an eXpectant look every time it
opened.
Il am really becoming anxious about
Mr.. Bronson" Mrs. Leary observed later
in the evening. 1t is so unlike him to go off
and leave us no message. Do you think he
could have met with an accident, Jobn?"
81 hope nOt,' Mr.. Leary replied, but he
| privately dispatched lis coachman and but
Ter with a lantern to look for the missing
| guest.
HE may have lost his way" he said as
he came up TO where Winifred was stand
| ing with her face pressed against the win
| dow-pane, peerinG out into the darkness.
Before very long the two men came back.
| They had found Mr.. Bronson, they said.
He had met with an accident. They could
not tell whether he was dead or alive. His
| head had been badly cut.
| Mr.. Leary at once ordered the carriage to
| the door, and went himself to bring Mr..
| Bronson home. For while the widest ex-
oif OH h.,