Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-05-24

| face, trembling from head to foot. Fol
| many minutes after that she could neither
see nor hear-she would hardly have felt
wound or blow. And yet she knew tina
she meant to end her life, since all tha
made it life was ended.
After time her hands fell In despair
| ing gesture upon her knees and she stared
| about the room. Her eyes rested on the
| sleeper, then upon his couch, lying as g
| prophet in state, the massive head raised
upon silken pillow, the vast limbs just
outlined beneath the snow-white robe, the
hoary beard flowing down over the great
| breast that slowly rose and fell.
To her there was dreadful irony in that
useless life, prolonged in sleep beyond the
limits of human age. Yet she had thought
it worth the labor and care and endless
watchfulness it had cost for years. And
now her own, strong, young and fresh,
seemed not only useless, but fit only to be
cut off and cast away, as an existence that
offended God and man and, most of all, her
self
But if she died then, there, in that secret
chamber where she and her companion had
sought the secret of life for years, if she
died now-how would it all end? Was it an
expiation-or a fight? Would one short
moment of unconscious suffering pay half
her debt?
She stared at the old mans face with wide,
despairing eyes. Many time, unknown to
Keyork and once with his knowledge, she
had reused the sleeper to speak, and on the
whole he had spoken truly, wisely and well
She lacked neither the less courage to die,
nor the greater to live. She longed but to
hear one honest word, not of hope, but of
encouragement, but one word in contrast to
those hideous whispered promptings that had
come to her in Keyork Arabian's voice.
How could she trust herself alone? Her
evil deeds were many-so many that,
although she had turned at last against them,
she could not tell where to strike.
eff you would only tell mer' she cried,
leaning over the unconscious head. eff you
would only help me. You are so old that
you must be wise, and if so very wise, then
you are good Wake, but this once, and
tell me what is right"
The deep eyes opened and looked up to
hers. The great limbs stirred, the bony
hands unclasped. There was something
awe-inspiring in the ancient strength re-
newed and filed with new life
"Who calls me?" asked the cl eep
voice.
81, Unorna"-
"What do you ask of me?'
He had risen from his couch and stood be-
fore her, towering far above her head. Even
the Wanderer would have seemed of but
common stature beside this man of other
years, of forgotten generation, who now
stood erect and filled with a mysterious
youth
'1Tell me what 1 should do''-
'Tell me what you have done"
Then, i'll one great confession, with bowed
head and folded hands, she poured out the
story of her life.
"And I am lostl" she cried at last. "One
holds my soul, and one my heart May not
my body die? Oh, say that it is right-that
may die''
..Die? Die-when you may yet undo?"
s'Undo?"
"Undo and do. Undo the wrong and do
the right"
II cannot. The wrong is past undoing-
and am past doing right.
''Do not blaspheme-go! Do it."
"What?"
"Call her-that other woman-Beatrice
Bring her to him, and him to her,
'.And see them meetP'
She covered her face with her hands, and
one short moan escaped her lips.
eMay not dep" she cried, despairingly,
'sMay I not die-for him-for her, for both?
Would that not be enough? Would they
not meet? Would they not then be free?''
"Do you love him still?''
"With all my broken heart
"Then do not leave his happiness to
chance alone, but go at once. There is one
little act of heavens work still in your
power. Make it all yours.
His great hands rested on her shoulders
and his eyes looked down to hers.
'Ts it SO bitter to do right?' he asked
1T is very bitter" she answered.
Very slowly she turned, and as she moved
be went beside her, gently urging her and