Weekly graphic. [volume] (Kirksville, Adair Co., Missouri) 1880-1949, 1892-06-10
CONTINUED FROM FIRST rAaF.

prayers; and FIVE minutes before,
began the heavy tolline of the
chapel bell, followed by sudden
scufile and stamping in rooms,
and the hurrying tread of .belated
students on the pavement without,
growing more lnfrequent, until
the streets were empty. and only
the slow, mournful peal of the
great bell broke the Stiffness.
That, too, ceased; and the guietest
half hour of the day in Berroliu
began. II was then door opened,
and Stella stood before me dress
ed for her journey.
Of partings III real life the Is
usually little TO tell. For per
haps minute, We stood silent
Stella holding my hand with the
familiar clinging pressure / should
know no more. Then she whis-
pered, Il must go now" put her
arms about my neck, kissed me
for the first, as well as the
last time; and clinging still
to my hand as long as she
might, she went slowly from me,
heard the hall door close softly
behind her, and knew it was sll
over.
Were this the story of my life,
| might say something of the
years that followed. Yet | should
chiefly tell, of hopes deferred, OF
ambitions unreslized, of few and
and partial success; quite q dull,
common place record, in short, of
which only single incident need
be related.
Last summer became momen-
tarily the envy of my fellow men,
bers of the Eggleston bar, when it
was known that / had fallen in
with piece of professional BUSH
ness which would require Jour-
ney to San Francisco, something
of wlnd-fall in the practice of g
country-town lawyer sFew of them
guessed that it WAS not the cities,
mountains, or any OF the notable
resort [ should have an opportuni-
ty of visiting, which made tie
chief interest of the journey to
me; but the fact that Stella lived
in Oakland. I had her address from
an occasional correspondent in
Berroline; and on arriving in San
Francisco, | crossed over in the
afternoon to the pretty suburb,
and presently stood before an at
tractive cottage, fairly empowered
in vines and towering plants. 1t
pleased me to think OF Stella liv-
ing amid such agreeable surround
ings. My ring was answered by a
tidy girl, who stared when l asked
for Mrs. Matson, but conducted
me into the parlor without word,
and there left me. The room was
partly derkened and felt close. |
sat down near The open window,
through which came the faint
perfume of flowers and waited.
Presently heard light step
defending the stairs, entering the
room, and pausing almost at my
side. 1 could not turn my head
OR speak, fearing some great
change or disappointment, until
the voice l should have known
best on earth asked: did you
wish to see ms?"
Then l turned; and it was, in
deed Stella, the same, in form and
feature, in youthful grace, in each
well-remembered charm of bearing
and expression; but there was no
recognition in her answering gaze.
Don't you know me Stella?" l
said, with scarcely restained emo
ton.
She started, and regarded ME
with troubled look of inquiry, as
she said in an awed tone:
Stella was my mothers name,
who is dead. She died six months
ago"
Then we sat down together; and
she who was 30 like Stella, vet to
me only stranger, told the little
there was to tell. She had not
finished the recital, until it had
grown familiar, like something /
had known, but momentarily for
gotten. could rot grieve for
her who had gone or for myself.
This was but little lengthening
of that other parting, SO long re-
membered, that it had come to
seem an inevitable part OF my life,
hardly more TO be regretted than
that l had been born or must die.
When the daughter softly ques-
toned, if l had been her mothers
friend, [ could only answer in cold
and formal phrase. Memories,
dear to me. might well have ap-
peared to her sort of profena-
ton; for how seldom can the story |
of ones love be ftly told to ones
children.
So | spoke calmly and gave no
Sign, though one whom l had low
ed well had gone out of this
world. The perfumed breath of
the summer stole in through the
window, and without all the beau
ty of this strange land rejoiced in
the light of a perfect day. But
tor her, the flowers bloomed not,