Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-05-17


heartfelt words. If she had been indeed
Beatrice, would he have loved her so? If
it had all been true, the parting, the seven
years separation, the utter loneliness, the
hopelessness, the despair, could she have
been as true as he? Ii the stiffness that
followed she asked herself the question
which was SO near a greater and deadlier
one. But the answer came quickly. That,
at least, she could have done. She could
have been true to him even to death. 1t
must be SO easy to be faithful when life was
but one faith. In that chord, at least, no
note rang false
"Change in love-indiferenee to youf''
she cried, all at once, hiding her lovely face
IN his breast and twining her arms about his
'&SsS '.No no! never meant that such
things coui6 Se-they are but empty words,
words one hears spoken lightly by lips that
never spoke the truth, by men and women
who never had such truth to speak as you
and l.
'And as for old age,' he said, dwelling
upon her speech, f'what is that to us? Let
1t come, since come it must. 1t is good to
be young, and fair, and strong, but would
not you or 1 give up all that for loves sake,
each of us Of our own free will, rather than
lose the others love?"
Indeed indeed 1 would!'' Unorna an
swered.
AANl NlAil VI w lAsit 10 II slAlSl all
A few gray hairs, a wrinkle here and there,
slower step, perhaps DINNER glance.
That is all it is-the quiet, sunny channel
between the sea of earthly ioy and the ocean
of heavenly happiness. The breeze of love
still fills the sails, waiting us softly onward
through the narrows, never failing, though
II be softer and softer, till We glide out,
scarce knowing it, upon the broader water
and are borne swiftly away from the lost
Land by the first breath of heaven
bis words brought peace and the mirage
OF far-off rest that soothed again the little
half-born doubt.
''Yes,'' she said. cit is better to think
of it so. Then We need think of no other
change"
''Fhere is no other possible" +" he answered
gently pressing the shoulder upon which his
hand was resting. "Wc have not waited
and believed, and trusted and loved, for
seven years. to wake at last-face to face as
we are tO-day-and to find that we have
trusted vainly and loved two shadows, 1
yours and Won mine; to find at the great
moment of all that we are not ourselves, the
selves we knew, but others of like passions,
but of less endurance. Have we, beloved?
And if We could love, and trust, and believe
wltOut each other, each alone. is it not all
the more sure that We shall be nchanging
together? 1t must be so. The whole is
S~ACstNCA llltllA 4lS pSlllog JNO 1ONSS
are greater and stronger than each could be
of itself. The strength of two strands close
twlned together is more than twice the
strength of each.'
She said nothing. Bv merest chance he
had said words that had walked the doubt
again, so that it grew little and took
frmer hold in her unwilling heart. "To love
a shadow" he had said, ''to wake and find
self not self at all" That was what might
1,+o,, L.
doubt. What matter where or when, or
how? The question came again, vaguely,
.tainJly, as mere memory, but confidently
Jas though knowing its own answer. Had she
mot rested in his arms, and felt his kisses
Sand heard his voice? What matter how, in
gdeed? 1t matters greatly, it said, for love
lies not alone in voice, and kiss and gentle
touch, but in things more enduring, which |
to endure must be sound and whole and not |
cankered to the core by living lie. Then |
came the old reckless reasoning again: Am |
not /? Is he not he? Do not love him |
with my whole strength? Does he not love !
this very self of mine, here as it is, nv head |
upon his shoulder, my hand within his hand? |
And if he once loved another, have not her |
place, to have and hold, that may be loved !
in her stead? Go, said the doubt, growing |
black and strong; go. for you are nothing to |
him but figure in his dream, disguised in |
go, quickly, before it is too late; before the |
real Beatrice comes and wakes him and
drives you out of the kingdom you usurp.
But she knew it was only a doubt, ,and had |
it been the truth, and had Beatrice's foot |
been on the threshold, she would not have |
been driven away by fear. But the fight |
had begun.
''speak to me, dear" she said. ssI must
hear your voice-it makes me know that it |
is all real
''How the minutes f1yr' he exclaimed,
smoothing her hair with his hand. cit /
seems to me that l was but just speaking
when you spoke.
''It seems so long" She checked her
self, wondering whether an hour had passed
or but second.
Though love be swifter than the f1eeting
hours, doubt can outrun life time in one
beating of the heart.
''Then how divinely long it all may
seem, he answered. 'But can we not be-
gin to think, and to make plans for to-
morrow, and the next day, and for the
years before us? That will make more time
for US, for with the present we shall have
the future, too. No-that is foolish again
And yet it is so hard to say which L would
have. Shall the moment linger because it
is so sweet? Or shall it be gone quickly.
because the next is TO be sweeter still?
Love, where is your father?"
UnOrna started. The question was sug- !
gested, perhaps. by his inclination to speak
of what was to be done, but it fell suddenly
upon her ears, as peal of thunder when
the sky has no clouds. Must she lie now,
or break the spell? One word at least, she
could yet speak. with truth.
Dead.
"Dead!' the Wanderer repeated, thought
fully and with faint surprise 'Is it long
ago, beloved?" he asked, presently, in a
subdUed tone, as though fearing to wake
some painful memory.
"Yes," she answered. The great doubt
was taking her heart in its strong hands
now, and tearing it and twisting it.
"And whose house is this in which have
found you, darling? Was it his?
cit is mine, " Unorna said.
How long would he ask questions to which
she could find true answers? What question
would come next? There were MANY he
might ask, and few to which she could re-
ply so truthfully, even in that narrow sense
of truth which found its only meaning in
whim of chance. But for a moment he
asked nothing more.
''Not mine, )" she said fIt is yours. You
can take me and vet call ANYTHING mine"
ours, then, beloved What does it
matter? So he died long ago-poor mani
And Yet, it seems but little while since
someone told me-but that was a mistake of
course. He did not know. How many
years may it be, dear one? 1 see you still /,
wear mourning for him.
"No-that was but a fancy-to-day. He
1ied-he died more than two years ago" /
She bent her head. 1t was but a poor at
L.