The morning call., 1893-12-10
ONLY A PRESCRIPTION.
: 1t Recalls the Romance of Woman's Life.

a llght began to dawn, or was it darkness
Yes, chaotic blaekness that preceded the
earthquake which buried all the innocence
ana hope OF my jocund youth in oblivion
For a whole month / lay. occasionally
frenZled, occasionally despairing. weeping
and praying God would have pity on me
and save my taking up the thread Of life
again. But my prayers remained unan-
swered. Then l arose, as we all must, TO
face the dreary future. | had had no ex-
perience of lovers joys in the past l
would have none in the years to come.
Art should be my only lover. work my
only solace now.
A dreary little figure clad in black. l
trudged daily TO the South KenSington
schools, and in cne month produced better
work than others did in six. Then letter
came. It was from the seat OF war. written
by Red Cross doctor. who offered to de-
liver nm to me some relies of him who was
no more From the School OF Art | wrote
Come" and waited. When the campaign
was over he came.
The corridor was full of girls chatting
and giggling and preparing to leave for the
luncheon hour. The swing door facing me
opened and an unusual sight presented
itself. 1t was the figure of man. Such a
figurel Hercules ccme down TO earth, all
DronZed and glorious from the Eastern sun.
Though there were twenty girls about
he extended hand TO me. with a look of
recognition, two honest blue eyes as clear
as the sky looked down upon me with a
reassuling smile. | took the hand aud fol-
lowed him out of the building into the
museum beyond
Then he drew from his breast-pocket a
parcel and handed it to me. | knew what
its contents must be. A lock of my hair
some forget-me-Dots and certain photo
graphs of my extreme youth, and another
nI-<w nolfa 81
departure, in all the pride of my sixteen
summers and long gown. | moved them
one by one with lstless fingers, scarcely
recognizing them.
lone would imagine the sight of these
would make me weep" | said. with a
dreary smile, "but l cannot-every tear
was exhausted long ago."
$50 | see," he replied bluntly. "Y Ou
must be cautious lest your sight be af-
fected. Drawing all day with weak eyes
cannot be conducive 10 comfort"
It was pathetic TO know that the miser-
able condition of the orbs of which | had
hitherto been so proud was obvious even
to a stranger.
"Tell me of him." murmured. chang
ing the subject.
He did. He gave very few details in a
series of jsrks, dwelling as little as possible
on the saddest feature of it all-the end.
was scarcely conscious OF his presence,
but was dreaming of that far-away tent,
sweltering in the morning sun. with the
enemy within a few miles. and death-the
greatest enemy Of all-staring my lover IN
the face.
He died clasping my hand. and think
ing Of you." he added almost In whisper,
lifting the hand next me with slight
gesture.
On the impulse of the moment | caught
1t in both my own and raised it to my lips.
Criv,
remem bered we were in public place, |
had forgotten all but that his hand had
touched my lover lastl Fortunately our
corner of the museum was deserted.
Ibid you know he loved me?" l ques-
toned
He bowed his head.
so well that could l have laid down my
life instead of his. that he might return to
you, would have done It,"
.tHOw good you are!
"Not so. / had nothing to live for, and
no one to care for me-that is why lived J"
laughed he rather bitterly.
You will come and see me often" | i'm
plored "You are the last link between me
and him."
IF you WISH" was his curt reply.
81 must return to the class" l exclaimed
lngeringly.
"And injure your eyes forever? Stay"
said he, drawing a note from his packet,
81 will give you something for them"
He wrote some mystic lines. compreh hen
sible but 10 himself ana the chemist.
stuffed them heedlessly into my pocket
and returned to work.
Many times after that we met, for my
father took fancy to him and encouraged
his coming. He Imagined the doctor S
visits cheered me. | scarcely liked to own
to myself they did. Looking into his
gloriously handsome facu | regretted my
pallid shrunken features for the first time.
/ began to wish for the looks which had
been so promising but a short while back.
but they returned not. The glitter had
gold from my heart. But had it? A red
blush of shame overspread my features as
| questioned with myself il the memory of
the dear dead waXed fainter in the
preseac ce of the living.
A year crept slowly by, and | lost my
father, who had become dearer to me since
nv grief. Armand Daintry became my
only friend. He was more gentle, less
abrupt, less bitter than when we first had
met
By instinct rather than anything else. l
felt | had brought peace into his life, as he
had into mine. or love | never thought.
1t was thing slllborn. buried before the
breath of life could come to it. | believed
my art was sufficient for me, and knew not
it was giorified by the continued presence
of one who had become dear frie nd, an
almost brother. Wherever i went. what
ever | did, felt that the thoughts of one
being, like guardian angels, hovered
round me. Was / unhappy. he comforted-
was | undecided, he advised-was L am
bilious, he supported me!
Month after month passed. | was no
longer student, but an artist. and my
hrst little picture. entitled Outside
Adrianople"-of a dead horse and his
rider, had been commended on the Acad-
emy walls. But nothing endures here be-
low, and a change came at last.
Armand DaIntry called. His face was
pale and grave.
what ais you?" | inquired at once.
Nothing. but that [ must leave you.
shall vhlun teer for Egypt tomorrow.
"AhF A strange tightening of the throat
hushed my words.
ITS OF no good hanging about in Eng
land doing nothing"
"Why not? Why not?" / asked impul-
sively. "Are you not happy here?"
Happy? Too happy! Camilla, listen.
The first day / saw YOU | knew it would
be all up with me. L had seen your photo
graph, and said to myself, that is the girl
l could have loved. dared fate in ventur-
ing to meet you. l have dared fate in try
ing to continue friendship with You
while my heart was mad with love. That