Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1893-10-15

70 %
serious man Of letters. Much that he
said was coarse, but so audaclously
humorous il was impossible not TO re-
spond.
Tom found himself moved to enthusi-
asm aud laughter. His pulses were
alive; his eyes glistened. Yes, let him
reason as he would, he was attuned to
this reckless brilliancy, this mingling
Of wits. this clatter OF ditiant freedom
AID sDOutaneity. DelatOle was right.
Chance words here and there gave him
new insight into a happy, modern
paganism that filed his brain with
imagery. The wttchery, the sweep OF
10 were intoxicating.
He regretted when Q o'clock came and
Delatoie parted with him 10 keep an
appointment az his club. No word had
been exchanged between the two men
upon the subject that so nearly con
cerned them both. Now, as Tom hur-
ried up town the undecided question
danced before his eyes and his heart be-
came suddenly weighted.
Should be cast the old life behind
him utterly and enter upon new one
free?
He reached Union square. 1t spark
led 10 crystal whitenesS. The branches
patterned on the payements waved fan
tastically about his feet as he strobe
on, his head down. Passionate indeci-
sion went with him like wrath in the
white rays. De thought OF his en-
chanted dreaming Of the night before.
Only last night. An, he had learned
much since then. Had he ever really
reasoned or understood before?
keep yourself unshackled. The
man who enters race fettered Is d
fool"
The frosty breeze that whstled past
his ears seemed whispering these words
10 him.
His memory few back to q miserable
childhood spent among the rlgors Of a
poor western farm, and he shuddered.
Only by hard iGht aud incredible sac
rifce had his father saved the money
necessary for his support and educa-
ton.
Poverty How he loathed aud fear
cd iJ. How he had always loathed il!
Ingrained In his nature was a love for
the poetry Of life, a hatred OF the COM
mon-place, and nOw-let him be care
full, lest by one On advised step he taste
all the old bitterness again.
The fragrance Of the hyscinths In his
coat came TO him 10 the crisp air, so
penetratingly sweet it gave him a
heartacke-the flowers she had given
him.
With a groan he flung himself into &
seat.
II love her! I love berl And she?
Have not had the confession in her
eyes-in her kiss? Who has helped me
who has understood me like her?
How can 1 pain her-how can leave
here"
For himself, II the reckless ambition
mastering him required it, he could
put love away, blot il from his life, and
the thought mad some OF the ecstasy OF
martvrdom. But Virginia loved him,
and ne knew il. The thought OF hurt
Ing her was cruel, aud in the agonized
tumult OF the moment cold drops stood
on his brow. Again as in
the morning came the inward avowal
OF his own weakness. Oh, what II
Dslatole had spoken truly, and the
sovereignty OF love meant the
enslaving Of the talent he had sworn
should make him famous. Then-Oh,
then, 10 what depths his ruined hopes
would fling him. And he would drag
her with him in his fall, perhaps max
ing her taste a bitter anguish 10 which
this Younger disappointment was but
little. And the other side OF the pic
ture-the life OF the artist purely, the
untrammeled, easy, earnest life, where
great things would be accomplished
was 10 not better?
Hours passed in this mute conflict.
Love with loves eyes first pleaded,
then changed TO fury and scourEed
him. Doubt, fear Of himself, Unsuitable
ambition passed in hooking line and
with shadowy lips whispered predic-
tious that terrified him.
When be rose from the seat, he was
benumbed. The frost seemed TO have
made a casing for his heart. The mid
night traffic OF the town, like the thrOb-
bing of massive machinery, swept
across the white silence Of the square
imperatively rousing him 20 a sense Of
action. Yes, there lay his world, his
life. No more dreaming. He had
dreamed long enough. The conflict
was finished. Love had received its
death wound.