San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1892-01-27

good. Berkeley would listen to you,
and would come to look at this matter
in its true light. Pocahontas is break
ing her heart and Nesbit's heart, and
she ought not to be let do it," There
were tears in Blanche's eyes and in her
voice as she spoke, and she laid one
small hand on Jim's arm appealingly.
Jim never moved; he sat like man
carved out of stone and listened. He
knew that Pocahontas had never loved
him as he had wanted her to love him;
but the knowledge that her love was
given to another man, was bitter. He
said no word, only listened with jeal-
Gus hatred of the man who had sup
planted him growing in his breast.
Blanche looked at him with fearful
eyes and quivering lips; his gaze was on
the ground; his face wore, to her, an
absent, almost apathetic look. She was
disappointed. She had expected she did
not know exactly what, but certainly
more sympathy, more response. She
thought that his heart must be less noble
than his face, and she regretted having
given him her confidence and solicited
his aid. When they got back to the
avenue she released him from further
attendance a trihe coldly. She would
make her calls alone, she said, it might
be irksome to him; probably he had
other engagements. He had been very
good to sacrifice so much of his time to
her; she would not detain him longer.
Jim went back to the path and sat
down again, not noticing her change of
manner, and only conscious of the relief
of being free from the necessity of talk
ing commonplace, of being left to think
this matter out alone He thought
vaguely that she was kind, considerable
woman, and then she passed out of his
mind.
The first feeling with which he Crap
pied was wonder; a strange thing had
happened. A few short months ago
these people had been unknown to him;
were, as far us his life was concerned,
nonexistent. And now! Land, home,
friends, love, all things that had been
his, were theirs. His place knew him
no more; these strangers filled it. 1t
was strange thing, a cruel thing.
Pocahontas had been glad to see him
again, but in her pleasure there had been
preoccupation. He had felt it; it was
explained now. He knew that she had
never loved him, but the possibility of
her loving another man had never come
home to him before. He tried to steady
himself and realize it; it ate into his
heart like corroding acid. Perhaps it
was not true; there might be some mis-
take. Then his heart told him that it
was true, that there was no mistake.
She loved this man, this stranger, of
whose existence she had been ignorant
that evening when she had said farewell
to him under the old willows beside the
river She had been tender and pitiful
then. She had laid her soft lips against
his hand, had given him flower from
her breast. He moved his hand, and
with the fingers of the other hand
touched the spot which her lips had
pressed. The flower, faded and scent
less, lay folded with girlish note or
two she had written him in the inside
pocket of his vest.
The shadows shifted as the wind
swayed the branches. The sound of
women's voices came from behind a
clump of evergreens. They were raised
in surprise or excitement, and sounded
shrill and jarring. In the distance a
nurse pushed basket carriage care
lessly. She was talking to workman
who slouched beside her, and the child
was crying. Two sparrows near at hand
auarreled and fought over a bit of
string.
His anger burned against Thorne. He
could see no good in his rival-no trag-
edy, no pathos in the situation. Had
his life gone wrong2 Doubtless the fault
had been his. Did he suffer? Jim felt
a brute JOY in the knowledge of his pain.
What was that the young lady had
said? Thorne had been divorced-the
woman who had been his wife lived
there were prejudices; he knew them
all; barrier existed; his heart leaped.
Here was hope, here was vengeance.
A cloud passed over the sun, eclipsing
its brightness; chill was on the face OF
nature; dead twig, broken by the
squirrel in his gambols, fell at his feet.
He had been asked to speak, to exert
his influence, to smooth the path for his
rival. He would not speak; why should
he speak? Was it any business of his!
Nay, was it not rather his duty to be
silent, or to throw such influence as he
possessed into the other scale? Should
he aid to bring about a thing which he
had been taught to regard with aversions
Wos - not lis d,,tv as a man as a Chris