Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-12-19
BY,CHRlSTlAN' REID.

would be dead; and there cannot be
much doubt of the relative value of the
two lives And it will save him trouble
if he dies now-after having spoken
for if he were to recover it would only
be to be marched out and shot as a high
way robber. Such crimes are dealt with
summarily here
Derwent could not but smile. In
that case it will be better for him to die
comfortably in your hospital, with Padre
Franciscos gentle ministrations, he
said. But | am grieved beyond meas
ure that Dona Zarifa should have been
forced to an act so painful to herself in
order to save my life. 1t almost makes
me regret that | ever came to Mira
flores"
"Nonsense!" said Don Maurizio, good
naturally. IF she feels any pain on
the subject-which cannot believe-it
shows a morbid spirit that | would not
have suspected in her. | am proud, my
self, that she rose to the occasion so well.
She should be grateful to have had the
opportunity not only to save your life
but also to clear Senior Barr era # cry
dark suspicion; as / am sure this mans
confession will clear him"
II hope it will" said Derwent; but
to take human life-that is hard even
for man"
ITO take human ife-the life of a
cowardly assassin-when it is to save
the life of an unconscious man at whose
back he has leveled his gun" cried Don
Maurice with Impotence, not I'M
mingled with scorn. Il should feel no
more regret for that necessity than for
shooting tiger in a jungle. Neither
would you Neither, | am certain, does
Zarifa. The marvelously fortunate
thing is that she came upon the ground
just at that moment when her presence
was needed"
"Yes," said Derwent, If she had
been a minute later | should not be
walking here with you now
He looked around, as if with sudden
sense of how near the peril had been.
and how narrow the chance that he
would ever look again upon the beauty
of earth Never had that beauty seemed
to touch him more keenly than in con-
nection with this thought, The long
| shadows Of late afternoon were now
| stretching across the grounds through
which he had watched bona Zarifa walk
| ing in the morning, unconscious, as most
of US are when the dark wing of Azrael
most nearly overshadows US, that he
might be looking his last upon that
| gracious form; the wide plain stretched
into magical blueness afar to meet the
| luminous sky, the distant purple heights
| had more mystic charm than ever in
| his eyes, and the fresh, delicious air
seemed fraught with blessing. He had
feeling as if a new life were given to
him-a life divided from that of yester-
day by the gulf of great danger, and a
life which was the gift (after Cody OF
Zarifa. 1T is owing to her that | am
here!" he thought, after rush of emo
ton, q sense that existence had become
| something dearer and more precious fol-
| that fact. She will tell me that she
would have done the same for any one
and know that she would have done il
for the poorest peon in Mexico. No mat
ter. 1t was for me that she did do it
Nothing can alter that"
Almost oppressed with these thoughts
and also with the passionate desire tt
express them lin a modified form), he
sought Dona Zarifa when he entered the
| uOuSe, DIL sought uGI III VAIL ne Hat
| by this time learned most of her haunts
but in none of them was she to be found
| No one had seen her for hours-no
since, after having done everything
that it was in her power to do for the
| wounded man, she had returned to thu
| house and gone to her own apartments
She was not there, however, when Der
went, waylaying her maid, asked fo
her. mo, the senorita has gone out,
Marcella made him understand. II saw
her pass across the court short time
ago"
1t will not say much for Derwent's de
votional instincts that it was only whe1
he was altogether baked in his desire t.
express his gratitude to Zarifa that h,
thought of offering the same sentimen
to God. Perhaps he would not hav,
thought of it at all-certainly not O
taking his way to church for the pur
pose-had not the atmosphere of Mira
flores begun to tell on him. But he haC
nature readily impressed by all thing
beautiful, and most readily by thost
which We're beautiful in the moral rathe
than in the physical order. When b
saw the whole household of Mirahores
| dhN dll IllOSS vi LllS bdClGuud WHO W6T
able to do SO, gather every morning il
the beautiful chapel for the most angus
of all acts of worship-when he saw al
day long men, women and children pass
ing through its open doors, Selling fey
moments from their toll to offer peti
ton, to leave thanksgiving, or simpl
to rest soul and body as in the shelter c
a fathers house-the beauty of it struc
him more than words can express TIL
lovely church, with its never dying alta
= fame and its atmosphere of infinite calm
seemed like the heart of all the busy lif
around-a heart ever turned to God, We
also open ever to man, and full of hol
thoughts and words as a censor is c
fragrance.
. Thither, then, he took his way, as tn
sun of the day which might have bee
his last on earth was slowly sinking be
! hind the western mountains. Crossin
the quiet, clolsterlike court which led t
the church, he entered by the side doc
and found himself in the soft, melloy