Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1894-04-26

ed through inc growing Dawn 10 MS cDalQ-
bers, but the ghosts that fitted along by
his side all the way followed him in and
kept their silent watch-ghosts of evil
deeds and misspent hours. There WAS one
ghost that came nearer to him than the
others and looked at him with eyes full of
unutterable pain and sorrow He covered
his face, but he saw these eyes all the
same He called himself Il fool and cursed
his nervous mood, " but the specters new
er stirred, and the sad eyes grew sadder--
that was all.
"I'll have done with it ALL he cried,
with a reckless laugh. "I'm getting SEN
timental Pouf! I'll settle accounts with
six shooter if can't get rid of these fan
cies any other way. It's too late to bark
back"
The day of the matinee came. The play
was called "Opal, from the legend of that
beautiful stone that it glows bright while
the love of the wearer for the giver burns
clear and strong and grows dim when
love falters and fails Leslie's stall was
in the last row, and he knew none of the
people near him. His acquaintances in
England were, at present, not many. He
looked carelessly over his programme and
bit his lips for moment, with quick
drawn BREATH his tongue almost whisper
ed the name of the heroine, Margaret. But
the name is common enough. He listened
to the clatter of the people about him
mostly Professionalism because it had
any interest for him, but because he hail
ed anything that took his attention away
from rospeotion-anything that drove
the CHESTS little farther away
The curtain rose; the play began. Les
lie listened at first with a languid indiffer-
ence of the blase playgoer. BY and by he
became interested he watched and listen
ed intently; he held his breath when the
hero flung his wife from him and went
out. 1t was the close of the act, and the
people in front applauded, all except Will
mot Leslie. He did not stir.
In the second act the interest deepened;
the man in the stalls with the handsome,
reckless face was inthralled. The fellow
in the play was haunted; SO was he-Wil-
mot Leslie. He scarcely heard the ap-
plause. He never lifted hand-how could
he? For this was not play, it was reali-
ty Margaret loves her husband through
although unfaith and desertion and
all his piled up sins against her. Bah! 1t
is play, q wofhan's sentimental notions.
Let the author be tried. She would not
keep the opal bright. The man wasn't
worth one tear Of hers. Let him be cast
out and forgotten, as he deserved,
And now came the third and last act,
where the husband is prevented from COM
hitting the crime he medtates, and in
the end, in beautifully written scene
which alone, said the critics afterward,
ought to make the fortune of the play
Margaret forgves the man who has so bit
terly wronged her. Wilmot Leslie, white
as death-yet otherwise masking, for
pride's sake, the agony in his heart-lis-
tened to the words, every one of which
stabbed him with mortal blows. A play
yes, only play-but, oh, that there
could be for his wasted, sinful life such a
last act as this.
The curtain was down and the house
applauding and calling for the author
Wilmot Leslie, eager to see the woman
who could write like this, fingered and
presently Mrs. Clavering appeared at tho
wing to bow her thanks. The face flashed
for second upon Leslie's startled gaze;
the next his eyes were blinded by u scarlet
mist-he saw nothing, heard nothing,
knew nothing He CROPPED his way out to
the lobby. Some one spoke to him. He
gave no answer. He had not heard. He
reached his own rooms-going Oh through
the streets in the same dazed way-and
there he flung himself down, with great
and exceeding bitter cry, Margaret, Mar
garrett"
"a gentleman, ma 'am, asks to see you. :"
"What name, Janet?" said Alix CLAW
ering, putting aside pile of morning pa
ra-~, Ill of which ~ ln~~ r-";e~.1 ~"
new play, though some said that Marga-
ret's love was too nearly divine to be pos.
sible in real life.
"He said you would not know it,
ma'am. He would not detain you long "
"Still, 1 suppose he has name. Well,
show him up"
The servant retired, and in a minute
opened the door again A tall man cana
in, Just step beyond the threshold, and
paused there, the door closing behind him.
Mrs. Clavering rose to her feet, trenl-
bling, paling, and they stood face to face
after seven years-husband and wife.
Seventy times seven years of wrong be-
tween them.
The man spoke first, his head bent, his
voice hoarse and broken, the sentences fall
ing from his lips in disjointed fragments.
81 have been in England for a month
past. did not know that you called your
self Clavering. No matter--I should not
have troubled you, only He paused.
1t might have helped him if he had seen
her face, but he did not see it; he dared
not lift his eyes to hers. He went on, with
an effort: ~ saw your play yesterday, and
l saw-you-. The woman-M Margaret
that was not-you? Only-a beautiful
play-isn't that it?"
"No," she said slowly. She did not move,
but clasped her hands tightly over her Ia
boring heart. 1.-THE woman Margaret is
my heart. She loved him all through
though his sins were scarlet, he was her
husbandl And he had loved her once! So,
when he came back to her, casting all the
evil years behind him, she forgaven'
"No, no!'' the man cried, trembling in
every limb. 'She could not forgive such
wrong! The message was for me, Marga-
ret; it was only play" ..
sit was deep calling unto deep" she
said. at was my heart calling to yours!'
She stretched out her hands toward
him, and he looked up and saw the light
in her eyes. He staggered forward, with a
broken cry, and fell down at her feet, and
she laid her arms bout his neck and drew
his head against her. "My husbandw she
said.-OmahS World Herald