Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1892-01-15

sensation of unreality possessing her, as
If, she thought, she had died, and this
was her ghost. So this was the end OF
it! of all that happiness which it had
seemed they would take with them into
eternityl Donald had tired of her. Who
| could say when the subtle change had
taken place, or for how long he had been
deceiving her with sweet, plausible
words? But at is vain to attempt to
keep secret from one that has a right
to know it, said Emerson. ut will tell
itself" 1t was her right to know this,
and his secret had been revealed to her
She seemed to awake with a sort of stu
pid surprise, to find herself mechanically
exchanging smiling greetings with some
passing friends; and presently. where a
little child was crying, she stopped and
spoiled glove fishing lost toy out of
the irrigating ditch noting curiously
how her hand still trembled On she
went in Il sort of breathless haste that
quickly took her away from the town,
and at length she turned aside from the
road, across a piece of dry ground
bristling with cactus and soapweed, and
aimlessly wandered on to the railroad
track, almost hidden between its borders
OF rank SunHOWerS.
81 must get away by myself and
think" she muttered. Nobody would
meet her here A little way and the
track crossed the creek, here rushing in
a myriad of foaming waterfalls far he
low its high banks. Midway across the
open trestle work Anita stopped, gazing
thoughtfully down at the murky torrent
below, a dirty white from the gulch
mining that was torturing the stream
frolL its bed up the canyon. What if
one should trip and fall? 1t would be
easy-poking one foot between the ties
and catching her boot heel experimental
ly-an accident which might happen to
anybody The water was not deep, but
the current was strong; and surely such
fall would kill at once. One would be
carried on down the stream as lightly
and indifferently as that bit Of chip
dancing along there-dead to all pain Of
earth
How shocked people would be should
such an accident befall herl And how
they would hurry to snatch Donald from
his jolly time with Mrs Rogers to look
his last upon the poor dead face which
once had been the loveliest of all on earth
to him, for he had loved herI Nothing
could rob her of the sweetness of believ-
ing that And in the last sad moment,
when he came to press his farewell upon
the stiff lips that never again would
tremble with the joy of his touch, if only
in pity for her the old feeling must
spring remorsefully to life again for the
time, But stayl She would be bruised
by the fall, perhaps blotched and stained
beyond recognition, and Donald liked
women to look sweet and fair. It would
not do to have his last look at her like
that But there was a strange fascina-
ton in this thought of death. What
other escape did earth offer from its bur
dens of pain?
Beyond the bridge, she climbed the
steep gravely bank of the railroad to
look across at the small bare cemetery
on the southern mesa. The poorest land
had been given to Gods acre, its scanty
crop of buffalo grass sere and brown
from insufficient irrigation, a white
picket fence dividing it from the road in
front, its remaining sides defined with
barbed wire. A few cows had stolen
into the Enclosure and were compla-
Gently nipping at the scantily clothed
sod. And what was that small shape,
scarce distinguishable from the hue Of
the ground, lithely slipping under the
fence, and scurrying up the steep hill
side? Anita watched the shifting blot
with horror stricken eyes. She had
heard Of the coyotes that sometimes
came ravenously burrowing down into
new made graves. Yet what did it
matter? Those who slept over on the
mesa yonder would not be troubled how
ever the ground were scratched above
their heads. This was Nirvana:
Nameless quiet, nameless joy,
Blessed Nirvana-sinless, stirless rest
The change that never changes.
Suddenly she started back with ges-
ture of despair, her hand instinctively
moving in the sign of the cross that had
been her childhood's charm against evil
All the training of her life had been in
exorable as to the duty of living. Her
mothers creed had made it mortal sin
to wish for death; and however little the
orthodoxy of her aunts had to make life
the more joyous in the living, it at least
did what it might to inspire wholesome
patience under life's ills, with the awful
alternative of it's hell. God forgive and
help herl wildly stretching out implor-
ing hands toward the grim old noun
tains, as it seemed to her, like prison
walls to which she was helplessly
chained. Must she live on and on in
this environment which seemed press
ing her down, on and on, while the long
colorless days rolled themselves away in
years, till her fair hands had grown as
brown and shriveled with age as the
dried leaf she idly picked up? the poor
little Misunderstanding them out and
studying them with whimsical sadness
that must be empty CT happiness always,
when once it seemed they had more than
they could hold. A great wave of home
sickness swept over her-a passionate
longing for escape-to go back again to
the old home that in the softened haze
of memory seemed always as another
world Of heavenly peace and joy. In
that flower scented air the weary soul