The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1892-06-03
TEE STORY OF DOROTHY.


generations" AS l write the words unbid-
den tears spring TO my eyes, feeling Of
pain tightens about my heart. l wander
bick through the paths Of memory. that
thing which is both blessing and curse
to mankind and again l smell the faint,
sweet perfume from the clover fields, again
[ see Dorothy as 1 saw her in the summer
days so long ago. Dorothy, in the heydey of
her youth, who stood on the gallery of the
old-fashioned Southern house, looking with
Joyous eyes over the garden, where a wilder
ness Of roses and sheaYes Of lilies filed the
air with an all-peryading sweetness that
seemed to creep into the senses and make
life. even the mere fact Of breathing, a
pleasure.
Was the sky ever so blue. sang the birds
ever so Sweetlv in the annals of the world
before? She loved. was loved. Life stretched
out way Of light, and if there were shad-
ows Of sorrow in it the sunshine hid them
from view. What need to gFeve for fanced
woes? Herod loved her and would soon be
By her side.
Dorothy was a sngularly lovely girl of 10,
with slight figure Of medium height, beau
tifully nodded. Her gray eyes, under their
long. curling black laShes, had look OF
childlike franknesS, which her loosely cuTl
vague touch Of sadness that underlay her
manner but lent her al additional charm.
1t was little wonder that Her0d R9dman
loved the girl, proud ana selfish though he
was. Some peoples names ht them, aud
some dc not. Herod ROdman Looked q very
king. HIS figure was Of perfect proper
lions, and he carried his well-Set head as
proudly as any HerOd of old could have
done His face was handsome, but the fea-
lures, clear cut and regular, had stern eX-
preston, and the blue eyes were almost
s'ePl Ike IN their brilliancy.
Rich, handsome, highly educated, at 81,
after travelling extensively, he returned to
America and driited by mere chance to the
little Southern town where Dorothy Fowler
lived with her half-bTOther and his wife.
They soon met. Every one knew every one
else in this place, with its one struggling
street. Public improvements were unknown
10 the tOwnSpeOple, and since they were
content, who need object to their lack Of
ITOgTes>?
Pau Fowler, a cultivated man, seemed
strangely out OF his sphere in AtheTtOn. In
him HerOd found a eOneenial friend, and
thus opportunities for seeing Dorothy were
numerous. he thought he had 0utlIVed
sentiment. but he soon became interested in
the beautiful. childlike girl, AMI at last.
thoroughly aroused, be loved her as he
thought il impossible to love any woman.
To Dorothy, whose life had been very
latiun. He read 10 her as they sat together
in the Old-fsshioned garden; talked Of for
elgn lands as they stTOlled through the
woods, and was attentive and tender al
ways, and she dimlY wondered how she
could live if the time ever came when she
should see him no more.
AS the summer came on it seemed TO Dor
0thy that her life grew happer-mOre full
and rounded out with each summer day
TIL on July evening, when the moon was
high in the heavens and the stiffness of re-
pose lay over tree and flower, HerOd told
her that he loved her. He had been singing
an old love song 10 the mOOnllt DaTlOr-
II attempt from loves sickness TO fly IN vain,
Since am myself my own fever and pain"
His voice died lingeTiHgly away, and he
crossed over TO the window by which Dor
othy was standing, the moonlight making her
seem more lovely than ever. She was
dTeSStQ in trailing gown OF creamy null,
with frills falling away from her softly
curved throat and round white arms. To
Her0d she had never been so desirable as at
that moment.
Both were silent, but the silence was more
expressive than words. As if with one
thought they stepped through the long win
dow to the vide gallery, where Dorothy
seated herself on the railing and HeTOd
stood looking at her with such intensity Of
expression that she averted her head. a
climbing rose vine twined around the pillar
MduQ6IiuR
som against her shoulder, where it fell apart.
see" she said, 'the poor rose. 1t was
so lovely this morning aud now it is dead.
This Is beautiful world, but things are
always changing; nothing seems to last"
She spoke sadly. HeTOd leaned forward
and closed his hand over her own
Dorothy, % you think my love for you
will endure? Car you trust me"
That was all; no impassioned woOing. no
prOteStatiOns Of uBdying affection; but
Dorothy wanted none. No need to ques-
ton her own neart; IL seemed to her that
she bad loved bin ever since they first met.
She could not fancy time when she would
cease TO do so. Lifting her head she looked
straight into his eyes and softly bTeathed-
Yes"
Tie next instant she was in bis arms.
There WAS for neither of them e past or
Inture-only bewildering happy present.
Presently Dorothy shrank a little away
from him.
'it seems strange" she shyly said. "that
you should care for me-you, who know so
much, l wonder why you do"
Sweetheart l love you because you are
your dear little self You know what George
Meredith says: To him she was purity
chastity, the keeper of the keys Of whatso-
ever IS held precious by men, My darling,
l want you TO be the keeper Of the KEYS OF
my heart and life through all the coming
years. Nothing shall part us-that ]
swear!" cried Herod, rapturously elasping
her closer.
Nothing shall part usP' The words rang
in Dorothy's ears when. after many loving
words, she had hidden her lover goodnight
and gone to her room. She knelt by the
widow, and, looking dreamily out over the
moon-llt garden, thought OF the future that
lay before them. Together, ALWAYS to-
gether! Whatsorrow could touch her when
protected By his strong arms and sheltered
by l0ve2
The weeks that followed were full of hap
plness that spread out thin would have
lasted lifetime" A dream, the memoir
Of which became bitter-sweet one 10 hot n
Then the blow fell. and cruel Fate, intent
on breaking hearts, could not have chosen a
more proplti0us moment. Paradise itself
seemed mingled with their earth on that
summer morning when Dorothy waited fol
Herod's coming. When he Joined her they
went into the lOw-ceiled old parlor: il Wat
always cool and shady there.
Herod," said Dorothy. sinking into the
deeply cushioned window seat read some
thing. 1t is completely beyond me TO sus-
tain conversation this morning. and If
you could be persuaded to lend to the
rhyme Of the poet the beauty Of your voice
/ should be charmed"
You would be, no doubt" Herod re.
pied, disregarding the murmured "YanityV
from Dorothy. THAT you have little re.
gard for my comfort is evident"
But he OOediently went to the bookcase
and selected copy Of Tennyson. In cross.
Ing the room photograph fell from the
volume and he picked 1t up-the picture OF
an exceedingly handsome woman attred IL
evening dress.
Herod stood staring at this apparently
innocent object like one dumfounded. When
ne smoke his voice sounded almost hOarse.
How did this come here? What is thi:
woman to you?''
Dorothy looked at his agitated face IL
surprise.
MY mother" was the answer.
Your mother! Good GodP
derod dropped into a chair and looked at
ner with an expression that brought fear tc
D0rothy's heart.
AmnUEA0 mnsasm