The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1891-01-04


Each thought her the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen. One evening, when a
number of the ladies we were in the habit
OF meeting happened TO be together without
any gentlemen present, the talk turned half
IN philosophical, half in a gossipy spirit,
upon the consequences that might follow
should two men bound in such strange
fashion as my brother and I fail in love
with the same woman-a thing not merely
possible. but to be expected.
The widow, young. in years but old in
pride and self-conhdence, said that she
knew more about men than some present
could be expected to know, and their friend
ship was but matter Of custom and use;
the moment an atom OF self came into play
IL would burst; it was but bubble-com-
pany. AS for love proper-she meant the
love between man and woman-its law was
the opposite to that of friendship; its birth
and continuance depended on the parties not
being used to each other. Upon this fol-
lowed much confused talk, during which the
lady declared nothing easier than to prove
friendship, or the love Of brothers, the sort
of thing she had said. As for the law of
love proper, she said, the proof of that lay
in the power, If not in the possession, of
every one present.
From that moment the widow set before
her the devil victory of alternating two hearts
that loved each other. People said we
could not be parted. She would part us
She began with my brother. To tell how l
know that she began with him, l should
have to tell how sine began with me, and
that cannot do; for, little one, | dare not
let the tale OF the treacheries of a bad
woman toward an uDsuspecting youth enter
your ears. Oh. how she made me love her,
If that be love which is dedication of
self-the foul worship of ones own paltry
being, and that at moment when self
seems swallowed up and lost! No, it is
not love Does love make ashamed? The
memories of it may be full of pain, but does
the soul turn from it with sick contempt?
That which at length is loathed can never
have been loved
OF my brother she would speak as of
poor creature not moment to be compared
with myself How she could thus fool me,
knowing that in the mirror | could not have
told myself from my brother, knowing also
| that our minds, tastes and faculties bore as
strong resemblance as our bodies, l cannot
| tell, but thus fooled i was! At other times,
| when she wished to tighten the bonds of my
| thraldom, she would rouse my jealousy by
some word ting strong admiration of
| him. She must have acted the same way, l
| think, with my brother. ! saw perfectly
that he was enslayed just as | was; | knew
we must be farng alike-knew the very
| thoughts as well as feelings in his heart,
and instead of being consumed with sorrow
for him, chuckled to think that | was the
| favored one. | suspect now that che showed
him more favor than myself, and taught him
to put on the look OF the hopeless one. l
| fancied L caught at times covert flash in
lis eye. He.knew what lie knew.
| Shall | ever get her kisses off my lips, her
poison out of my brain? From my heart her
| image was burned in moment as utterly as
| ii by years Of HE'LL
| The estrangement between my brother
| and myself was sudden there were degrees
| only in the widening of it. First came en-
barrassment at meeting. Then all commerce
OF thoughts and condolences ceased. There
was no more merry-makiDg, juggleTy with
identity; each was himself only, and for
himself alone. We avoided each other more
and more. When We met. we made haste to
part. Heaven was gone from home. Each
felt the same way toward the other, but it
| was Tor separation and not unity.
| a few weeks suffieed to bring us to the
verge OF madness, but TO this day doubt if
| Inc woman, our common disease, knew the
one Oh us from the other That in any part
| OF her being there was ever the least an
| proacn to womanly interest in either of
US, dc not believe. l hardly think she
| could have felt anything for one Of us with
| OUT leeling the same for both; L do not see
| now, with all she knew of us, we could
have made two impressions upon her moral
sensorium; and am sure she never cared
for me.
1t was at length the height of summer.
| and every one sought change of scene and
air. The lady must have had plenty of
money and she loved company and show. /
cannot but think, therefore, that she had
her design i'll choosing a solitary place
whose LONELINESS might subSerye her intent
1
brain OF the fools sine had in her tolls. The
! lady's abode stood in little valley high in
the mountains. Its surface was gently I'M
| dulatng, with here and there the rocks
| breaking through its rich, Towering mea-
| dowS. Down the middle ran the deep, swift
| stream, swift with the weight of its full
ness. Its channel was not more than seven
| or eight feet across, but a great body of
water ran down it. About a quarter Of
| mile from the house was the first of series
OF falls of moderate height and slope, after
! which the stream divided itself into num-
Der OF channels, mostly shallow, in a wide.
! pebbly torrent bed. These little lower
down reunited into a narrower and yet
! sWllter stream-a small fierce river, which
presently shot, at one reckless bound, into
| valley thousand feet below, shattered
into spray rs it fell.
One- lovely evening | strolled ont of my
Hostelry and went walking, almost uncon
Seiously, up the road that led to the village
Inc moon rose and promised the loyeliest
hlgnt. was in no haste, for the lady had
SAD, IN ourcommon hearing that She was ro-
! ing 10 pass the night with a friend In Mace
some ten miles away. l dawdled along there
lore, thinking only to greet the place and stroll
ABOUT Inc meadow, sacred with the shadow
oil her denonlan presence Free of the
restless hope OF seeing her, found myself
taking some little pleasure in the tbinos
| around me and spent Two hours on the WaVs
with the sound of rushing water in my ears
all the while.
1t had not crossed my mind TO wond r
where my brother might be. Each of us
balished the thought of the other as often