Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1893-08-27

one sbould know Of 1t. Are you afraid
to 60 back to where you left your
horse?"
THAT is what am going to do, she
replied. "It Is almost sunrise.
at will probably be at least two hours
before the Others are here" went on
al advise you to stay near the barn IN
III YOU hear them coming. Then rloe
TO meet them and give them to under
stand that you lost your way In the
woods. They will be too much preoc-
cupied to take any special notice, ana
the whole thing will probably be forgot
ten"
"Why should there be any conceal
ment?" she demanded, drawing her
brows together.
because" said I, "there has been a
murder, and murders are followed oy
inouests. Everybody who can be sup
posed capable Of giving any information
will be examined. II you were put on
the stand you might be asked questions
that you would not wish to answer
There are things which you have not
told me, Sinfre. Would you wish 70
tell them to the world?"
Nobody could make me say any
thing I did not wish to" replied she,
but after a little pause she added: II
suppose your advice is good. l won I
be imprudent. But nothing seems Oh
much confidence compared with this.
The last words were spoken In lower
voice and with sort OF momentary
dropping OF her whole figure. But she
pulled herself together promptly ana
faced me with a smile. "Goodby," she
said, holding out her hand.
l took her hand in mine. I'm not
myself, Snfre," 1 said. 81 can't be
for some time to come. There are hard
things TO be done yet, and must keep
myself hard so as to do them. But
when it is all over shall have some
thing to say. Meanwhile goodly."
She went out, with her light, vigor-
GUS step, and l was alone again. 1t was
now daylight. put out my lamp ana
threw open the shutters. went into
the laboratory and drew aside the cur
tain OF Sapranis cage. tapped on the
glass and called to her. She came out
from beneath her blanket, glided for
ward and reared herself up. She knows
me well now and will allow me to take
any respectful liberties with her. For
my part, l feel an affection for the
beautiful, deadly creature that would
seem absurd to any one else.
This world is the heaven Of animals
There Is no past or future to them, no
memory or hope, nothing but the full
ness of the present. They are born into
their sphere of life, and they fill 1t COM
pletely, whether it be mischievous or
beneicent But man, poor fellow! is
| little more than q striving, a regret, a
! folly and disappointment. He never
becomes what he is capable OF being
and he is never satisfied with what be
is. II IL were not for this ettortles'
self fulfllment that we see in animals,
the world would be grim place in
deed
And so II was a comfort to me to play
with my queen Of cobras, knowing that
she was untroubled and content, and
that no rumor of the grief and dread
and evil that made the day hateful to
the rest OF us would ever pass the por-
| tails Of her consciousness or alter the
| serenity Of her demeanor. l could hold
her in my arms and let her coil around
my neck; but though she could feel the
beating Of my heart, no knowledge oil
what stirred it could ever cross the bot
tomless spiritual gulf between animal
and human. Were l the wickedest OF
the most faultless being that ever lived
| on earth her relation to me would re-
main unchanged, provided | treated heI
with the same attention. The denunci-
ations OF my bitterest enemy would leave
her as unmoved as the eulogies Of my
dearest friend. No one but myself can
disturb her confidence in me; the whole
world would be powerless to shake it.
Such an attitude has in it something OF
the sublime safety Of eternity itself.
Presently l heard noises and voice:
without, and 1 left Saprani with a mind
once more composed. Tom had re-
turned, bringing the coroner and
the village doctor with him. They
made their examination and took
my deposition, and by the time that
was over the wagon with mother and
the rest had arrived. Sinfire rode VI
to the door on her horse and gave me 8
look as she dismounted to say that al
| was well.