Evening capital journal. (Salem, Or.) 1888-1893, 1892-07-23

girlish affection. and ever since be
had been the one and the only man
in her life. Parkman knew it. but
nothing had ever passed between
them in the way of love- He had
been kind and attentive in manner,
but that was all on his part.
He knew that Madeline adored
him. but it did not trouble him one
way or another-he was too selfish
but he respected her; he could not
help that; he was here tonight to
hear her sing because he thought he
ought to be; he had even given up a
dinner to attend, when he would
much rather have gone to the din
ner. He did not care much for mu-
sic. and he had heard Madeline sing
so many times before; but he had
come, and was bit surprised at him
self for doing it.
His listless eyes wandered over the
house. and he drummed silently with
his large gloved hand in aimless
fashion against the crimson velvet Of
the box.
When the curtain rose he merely
turned his head to look at the stage
as he leaned back in his chair. nor
did he move even when Madeline
came ON. He watched her without
apparent interest for several min
utes
She did not turn her eyes his way,
although she knew just where he
would sit as he had told her. Her
pure. slender face was held up and
she sang to the spaces.
After time Park1nan leaned for.
ward. and an air of insistent eager
ness came into his eyes as he fastened
them on the singers face.
His breath came passionately and
his eyes burned with somber light.
He was changed man; 80 much SO,
indeed, that the people in the neigh
boring boxes looked at him specula-
lively. but he did not notice them
he was blind to everything but the
figure of the singer before him,
Why had she not looked at him?
She had said of her own free will she
should sing to him in the solos; that
she should look
But what did he care, to be sure3
he suddenly asked himself. Moth
ing. of course. Why should he. in
deed2
He did not try to analyze his feel
ings. He did not even ask himself
why it hurt him SO because she had
not looked, but he thought of her
eyes and wistful mouth, her delicate
slimness and her beautiful, pleading
voice that had penetrated his very
soul and every fiber of his being to-
night.
He hoped with a sort of childish
that she would look at him
during some of the other acts. He
watched her persistently, the look in
his eyes growing almost pitiful, but
Madeline did not look. The delicate
eyelids never trembled that way,
and the audience that gave itself up
to a transport of applause at the close
Of the last act knew nothing of the
agony in one mans newly awakened
heart.
Through the enthusiastic, well
bred crush after the opera, Parkman
hurried down the wide marble stairs;
he heard the peoples praise of
they stabbed like knives,
and he sprang into his carriage. 1t
was not the number of his own
house, but that of the pension where
Madeline and her aunt lived, that he
gave to the driver hurriedly as he
slammed the door.
Madeline was at the pension before
him. Her aunt was just carrying
away her thicker wraps, and she was
Gaming back in her shining garments
against the white fur of her crimson
cloak.
1t seemed to Parkman that he had
,ever seen her so beautiful before;
ler face was delicately flushed and
ler eyes shone like stars beneath the
strands of her parted hair,
hat had become prettily disheveled
oy her opera scarf. He wanted to
AXE her in his arms and crush her
lose, to keep her for his own forever
n her white womanhood.
She looked at him silently with her
hining eyes. She must have recog
lized the change in him, but she did |
lot show it. Her sweet face was
'almer and unmoved, and she looked |
It him as if questioning why he
anne. He was as white as death, |
md for several minutes did not
peak, but stood gazing at the wom-
IN before him; then suddenly, as If |
answering the questioning in her
yes, he said passionately:
Madeline, why do you not looh9 !
Why did you not sing to meR You
/
The strange, tender protest in his
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