Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1892-07-21

Wn0le vision OF wealth ana glory nung upon
this melody. And now-eitheT 1t had be
come common before it was born, or else by
some hideous conincidence he was exposed
to be secuted as plagiarist and an I'M
postor.
He tried to think-wbile she sang. Had
he by chance heard this woman singing
before? Perhaps-unconscious the
very moment when he was staring In at the
florists window? No; because here was not
only his own music, but his own words; and
then it was rendered, not as he Imagined 1t,
but with pathetic passion of which he had
never dreamed, and yet must have remem-
bered had it been only dreamed. And no;
it could be no coincidence. There must be
limit even to miracles. 1t was some
hideous mockery on the part of fortune, who
had taken advantage of his despair to de-
lude him with imaginary genius and prom
ises of wealth and glory never meant to be
fulfilled.
There was one hope-whatever the secret
of the song, it might perhaps be between
him and the singer; and in that case he
might make it his own by purchase. 1t was
not noble thought; but it was at any rate
better than if it had occurred to him to
make it his own by means of murder-for
he might have told his conscience that if
homicide in the defense of ones mere life
is justified, homicide in defense of what is
ten thousand times more than life is justi-
fed ten thousand times over But, how
ever he might have to act, he must know
first the nature Of the mystery. ** =
The song closed at last; again he heard the
clink of coins upon the gravel. He came
out of the shadow and approached the fig
ure, scarce knowing, however, what he
should say. There was DO need to know.
lu hod ho oh nt of foo
but of black veil which hid all features
except the lips and chin, when the form
glided away so swiftly as to be lost in the
mist almost before he reached the spot
where it had been. Had it not been for
some silver at his feet he might have fancied
that no ears but his own had heard the song.
But had it been SOP Were the coins only
another illusion? Had anything happened
since-when? Or had he, since he saw the
Goldenrod without seeing it, been wander
ing about for minutes or hours which had
seemed months, weeks or days-or even
years?
"Heaven help mel must be mad or
dead!' he groaned aloud; and the mist
turned to darkness, into which he seemed to
sink as into sea.
".
thought was that he had been the victim Of
a nightmare But when he tried to lift
himself in his bed, and had to fall back
again from weakness, and when he looked
round and recognized all the surroundings
of sick room, his second was that his mind
had really wandered His third, however,
was the knowledge that, however he had
come into his own room, everything had
been as real as the daylight in which he
lay.
One of the strangest things about such
state is how clearly one knows; even things
that one has never known before. He
could even remember having seen the
branch of Goldenrod, az if his eyes had
taken all this while to convey its image to
his brain. He followed himself through
the frenzy of inspiration, the throes of COM
position, and thence throughout until he
reached the point which, since it was as
suredly not OF madness, was all the more of
unfathomable mystery.
1t was all real; only too real. And, hear
ing sigh beside his bed he knew that there
was something else in the world at least as
real as the light-Mabel; of little mo-
nient, doubtless, in the lite of an artist, but
whom, at this hour of weakness, when sus-
tanned thought was too hard labor, he
could not help feeling that he had forgotten
almost beyond what woman who marries
genius deserves So something had hap
pened to him in the street; he had been
brought home; and she was nursing him.
That also was clear. He closed his eyes in
order to see the better, and when he opened
them they met hers.
"You are the woman" said he.
They were strange words to be his first;
but hers were stranger still:
Forgive me, Denisl Butch, never
all-thank God, you will get we'll now!
Only you must be very quiet"
"How did you learn my song?"
'Denis? Must 1 say? It was
one night: you were very restless: you left
your bed without waking, and went to the
piano, and It was dreadful: it
haunted me! And then when"
"How did you learn to sing?"
81 don't know-but 1 could not let you
be troubled in your work; and yet if I
could do nothing-but thank God, you were
spared from knowing how things were,
thanks to that very song 1t came to me
one day that people who sing in the street
must make money by it, and that ] could
not do worse than they, even if I tried; I
never meant you to know I wrapped my
self up so that I could not be seen, and
then 1 saw you fall. Oh. Denis! Don't
ask me any more; it is all SO much harder
to tell than to do"
'You have done all this tor the sake of
my work and me? To shield me from worry
-to-I was fool to ask you how you
learned to sing as heard you sing There
is only one master who teaches like that;
and"
Hark! 1t was a street where such things
come; and from the pavement below the
window rose in soulless rhythm the Inspira-
tion of Denis Warren, played as-as the
barrel organist alone knows how to play,
with perhaps an ape to cut capers to the
what guise!
Denis could not help one sigh. 'There
goes my great work, !" the sigh said but not
for even Mabel to hear. "Never mind,
DEAR" he said aloud. 'There was a mo-
ment when 1 felt, for tho sake Of a woman,
more scorn and anger sgainst q man than
can tell. You are the woman, Mabel; and I
am the man. n Forgive me. Genius,
indeed! You are my genius: my good gen.
ius. Let everything go-except you.
If ever fail you again"
'You have never failed me-" said Mabel,
very gently.
eft ever fail you again, say the one
word, 'Goldenrodp and"
"You never will" said she; and she knew.
THE END.