San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1894-12-19
VIOLETS.

By Grace knight in Galveston News j
They were her favorite flowers. She
always wore them. They were like her
ways she brought with her whiffS of their
indescribable Odor. Her simple girlish
gowns seemed to have viOletS hidden
away in their folds. Even her hair re-
talned faint Renaissance of their pur-
pie perfume. On wintry days, when one
went hurrying along crowded thorough
fares, glad OF the warm covering of furS.
one would be apt to meet her and always
she had tiny bunch Of her loved violetS
fastened just above her heart. She re-
minded one of an old aShiOned spring
time. She MADE one think of something
fresh and unSpoiled.
She was not strictly beautiful. but She
was good TO look upon. She combined so
much Of the child and the woman: she
had the simplicity Of the one and the
seriousness of the other. The lissOm,
Svelte figure, the waVy bronze hair, where
touches Of sunlight fingered lovingly. the
urn, red mouth. the pure, pale brOw-all
these things made her essentially charm
ing. But her eyes. They were her glory.
Deep eyes. true eyes. eyes the color of
purple yiOletS; eyes wherein dwelt soul.
passion, intellect, spirituality. Eyes that
looked lovingly on suffering or pain, char
lta0ly on sin and error, wOnderingly on
LIES problems and perpIexitieS. Her ewes
were the veritable windows of the sweet
white soul OF the girl-the girl who loved
violets.
The first time he ever met her was lust
at the close Of one gray, somber January
twilight. There were only a few words
spoken, just one hand touch She was
clad in turs from head to foot, vet she
Shivered slightly as she stood there with
him upon the bridge that spanned the
dark river where the mistS were begin.
ming to rise. She went away with a con-
seriousness that his hand touch had in it
something very mastery and strong
yet she was not diSpleased He went
back to his dinRy office carving with
him the remembrance of a soft voice. a
white, responsive hand and the over
towering scent of viUets-a scent that in
after years was always to cause him nm
speakable heartaches aud kcenest main.
Many times that night he thought OF her
and wondered if she knew that he would
have given years of his life for the little
bunch OF viOletS which she had worn lust
above her heart.
lie met her again. Indeed they were
friends almost from the first. The second
time he ever saw her he thought her the
lalreSt vision he had ever dreamed of
She was clad from head to foot this time
IN soft, fluffy, loose little gown of some
Cilnging stuff Of pale violet shade. She
dlitused the odor OF violeLs as she walked
a little bunch of them lay softly in her
bronze hair. He was not quite intoxicat-
ed-she impressed him then and always
as being as pure and sweet as the flowers
she wore. But he was a man and very
human, as men are apt to be.
One night in June he took her up the
river. One perfect night. One of the
slow, yellow, moOnlit summer nights.
that only come in June. 1t made one
think and dream of poetry, of good deeds
of love. The soft simmer of the moon
light made path of pureSt silver for the
boat and lay like a soft glory over the
sleeping landscape. He put up the oars
and stopped rowing She reClned in the
bow with her arms behind her head. The
loose lace of her sleeves fell back, show