Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1891-04-26
"And let bygones be bysones. and. be
he PLACED A CHAIR FOR HER.

And let bygones be bysones. and. be
friends to each other, as we were this morn
| ing?" she asked. with ray OF hope.
The Wanderer was silent for h few sec
onds. His difficulties were increasing.
Awhile ago he had told her. as an excuse
/ for herself, that men and women did not al
ways mean exactly what they said, and
| even now he did not set himself up in his
| own mind as an exception to the rule. Very
honorable and truthful men do not act upon
any set of principles In regard to truth and
honor. Their instinctively brave actions and
naturally noble truthiulness make those
principles which are held up to the un-
| worthy for imitation by those whose busi-
ness is the teaching of what Is good The
Wanderers only hesitation lay between
answering the question and not answer
ing it.
"Shall we be friends again7" q norma asked
q second time, in a low tone. ''Shall we 90
back TO the beginning2"
II do not see how that IL possible" he
answered slowly.
Unorna was not like him and did not un-
derstand such nature as his, as she under
stood Keyork Arabian. She had believed
that he would at least hold out some hope
You might have spared me that" she
said, turning her face away. There were
tears in her voice.
A few hours earlier his answer would have
brought fire to her eyes and anger to her
voice. But real change had come over
her, not lasting, perhaps. but strong in its
immediate efecis
mot even little friendship lefta" she
said, breaking the silence that allowed.
II cannot change myself" he answered,
almost wishing that he could. IT ought.
rhop ha dod
himself. ~ have done harm enough as il
is'
"Harmf To whom3" She looked round
suddenly. and he saw the moisture In her
eyes.
"To him." he replied. glancing at Kafka,
"and 20 you. You loved him once. 1 have
ruined his life"
''Loved him9 No. never loved him."
She shook her head. wondering whether she
spoke the truth.
"You must have made him think 90. 4"
"1? No-he is mad" But she shrank
before his honest look, and suddenly broke
down. "No-I will not lie to you-you are
too true-yes, loved him, or thought
did until you came, and / saw that there
was no one e-''
But she checked hereelf as she felt the
blood rising to her cheeks. She could blush
still, and still be ashamed. Even she was
not all bad, now that she was calm and that
the change had come over her.
"You see" the Wanderer said gently, ST
am to blame for it ALL"
"For it all? No-not for the thousandth
part of it all. What blame have you in
being what you are? Blame God in
heaven-for making such a man. Blame
me Tor what you know. blame me for all
that you will not let me tell you Blame
Kafka for his mad belief in me, and Keyork
Arabian for the rest-but do not blame
yourself-oh, mol Not thatr'
DO not talk like that, Unorns," he said.
"Be just first"
"What is justice?" she asked. Then she
turned her head away again. eff You knew
what justice meanx for me you would not
ask me to be just. You would be more
merciful."
"You e1aggerate-" He spoke kindly,
but she interrupted him.
'"No. You do not know, that is all. And
you can never guess. There is only one
man living who could imagine such things
as have done and tried to do. He is Key
ork Arabian. But he would have been
wiser than I, perhaps"
She relapsed into silence. Before her
rose the dim altar in the church. the shad-
owy figure of Beatrice standing up in the
dark, the horrible sacriIege that was to have
been done. Her face grew dark with fear
of her own soul. The Wanderer went so
far as to try and distract her from her
gloomy thoughts, out Of pure kindness of
heart
II am no theologian," said be, "but
fancy that in the long run the Intention
goes for more than the act"
"The intention" she cried, looking back
with a start &
With q shudder she buried her face in
her two hands, pressing them to her eyes az
though to blind tbem from some awful sight.
Then, with Q short struggle, she turned to
him again.
'There ID no forgiveness for me in hsaysn,"
she said. "shan there be none ON sartn?
Not even little, from You to me9"
There is no question Of forgiveness be.
tween you and me. You have mot injured
me, but Israel Kafka. Judge for yourself
which of us two, be or I, has anything to
forgive. am to-day what was yesterday,
and may be tomorrow. He lies there. dying