Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1892-09-29
CHAPTER XVIII.
A LINK FROM THE OLD LIFE.


A LINK FROM THE OLD LIFE.
AS Margaret hoped and expected,
BERTHE put in an appe 1rance two evenings
later-the same light-he arted, CHEEKY
BERTHE, with his never-faillng good
humor and his almost inexhaustible
store of news and gossip, to carry her
back to her home and let her feel, in
imagination at least something OF it's
old pleasures and interests.
Changes in a small place are always
more significant and Of more general
interest than those in great city,
where the identity of the individual is
lost in the great labyrinth of humanity,
and Margaret, whose affection absence
had only increased, took a keen delight
in hearing not only of the friends she
had left but Of even the slightest occur
renee about Elmwood and its surround
ings, and, in return, BERTHE wanted to
hear about herself.
This city air has not brought the
roses to your cheeks, he said. Il hope
you haven't developed such a fondness
for it that you will be sorry to come
back to us.
Never, BERTHE; my mind can never
even imagine such possibility. In the
first place, l don't like New York. l. I
actually hate it, though I shouldn' tell
anyone but you; and, in the second
place, I love Elmwood dearly. Then
there are things L enjoy there which
cannot have here; my rides, for one
thing Occasionally l have ride in
the park but it isn't the same as at
home. Here one must go at certain
| gait. and people ride awkwardly, too,
[ think. I suppose it is the fashionable
| I,,@ holt fI11 to
them pounding their saddles, one might
say. 1t really tries me to look at them.
The park is beautiful, though. New
York may we'll be proud of it. l have
been around a great deal. Brian takes
me everywhere, and I usually enjoy the
places we visit"
And Brian?" questioned BERTHE, meet
ing her eye.
Her head dropped slightly. BERTHE
saw the action He LETT his chair and
| came to her.
Tell me- Margaret" he said. placing
his hand upon her shoulder, 1T ism t so
nard for you to answer?"
No." she replied in a low voice, cit
should not be so hard now. My heart
has ached, oh, SO terribly, and [ have
been hopeless and despairng, because
was alone-so llelpIcssly alone. All, [
know what you would say. I have
friends. Yes, such true friends. Do
you think | ever doubted them, BERTHE?
But you can understand that there are
SORROWS which none can share. Lately
[ have been more encouraged. He has
left me so little, but last night he was
| later than usual, and tonight he is
not here-at all.
Her head dropped still lower and his
! l. R.tI = tNI 1,nr wit
a gentle, reassuring sympathy in it's
touch.
All may be right" he said with an
effort at consolation.
Perhaps, she answered. Il can only
hope, and if it should not be, the disap-
po.ntment will be SO bitter. Last night
he did not seem perfectly himself. [
tried to believe imagined it, but am
afraid l showed something in my ac-
| tons. I tried so hard, too-so hard not
to let him see."
Why should you have ztried?" cried
BERTHE, pressing his lips hard. "Why
should you consider him? You have
feelings, too. Must they always be
| outraged"
Margaret raised her eyes at this
strong expression of his thoughts.
| Il think women can't consider their
| feelings, Berthe" she returned, with a
sigh 1T seems to me that, no matter
how hard or how bitter it may be, they
can never get beyond the range of duty.
[ think we grow to be hypocrites in a
way. We are SO often obliged to hide
our hearts. | know [ have often smiled
| my brightest when my eyes We're burn
! ing with tears | held back. | suppose
| the baptism of sorrow must touch us
all, and I only hope that it may wash
| out all that should not be in my life,
and make me Drawer and stronger for
what is to come. Are you leaving me-
BERTHE? I'm afraid you find me very
doleful."
L leave you, Margaret, to find him.
T cannot bear to sit here and hear you
| talk and There; I'll act like a baby
next. Margaret, you are dear, brave
| girl. Long ago, Which,
| Before you thought | should grow
| into such a sedate young woman, in
| terrupted Margaret, hastily. I'VE used
| to fight gloriously in those days, didn t
we? Uncle fancied I should always be
a tomboy. I wonder if he would recog-
nize me now?"
She finished with a sigh, and the light
words had held such deep meaning that
BERTHE found it hard to meet the eyes
she raised so bravely to his.
$50 long ago." he said, half absently.
Not quite six years since first saw
you. I remember the day so perfectly.
You were just home from college, and
you had two cats tied together by the
tails. 1 thought you such cruel boy.
Well, you want to go? ! shall see you
again, sha mt I? You are like breath
from Elmwood, BERTHE.
You will see me again. and soon,
Margaret. Now look me in the face
and promise me that the day shall never
come when you will cease to regard me
as a brother TIL re; good-night your
tears pain me. God forgive Brian; ]
cannot.
Once upon the street BERTHE walked
along, absorbed thought. This brief
visit to Margaret had entirely unneryed