The Coconino weekly sun., 1894-11-15

love her-and kill her If she will not listenP Helen, I must hold you in my arms and tell you sol How furious she would be-or-would she be kind? wonder if she cares?"
 The chestnut, with the bridle slack upon his neck, turned slowly from the beaten road and trod upon the short brown turf. The hill grew sleeper and more uneven beneath his hoofs and the sun became a tint more ruddy.
 Did she think that was playing a game with her heart--as she played with mine? I would not wrong her so -I love her-I could not wrong her-I could not play false game with Helen. How gloriously beautiful she was when she mocked my pain to-day. And that wonderful fieck of light in her brown eyes; one looks, and looks. and never fathoms it. Yes, I will go to her tonight and force her to listen--and to yield"
 Still the chestnut strode on, his shoulders strained to the work, his glossy neck reeking from his efforts, his hoofs sliding over the dry, slip pery turf as he neared the summit of the Tor. Then they rested, and the man sat easily in his saddle and looked away at the sunset The sky was a glorious picture of golden shores and fiery waters, of fame-edged cliffs and purple islets; it was magnificence-it was splendor: and the passion of tho mans love surged within him; and he sat and gazed and stirred not, and thought no thought at all, while many moments passed.
 Then the fierceness of the sky passed gradually from it, the burning seas stretched out in peaceful purples, the | golden shores grew soft and tawny, a dimness fell on everything; from the valley below came the call of farm boy to his cattle; the air grew cool and dewy, and on the mind of the man there fell strange peace, and his thoughts came slowly,
 What would it mean if did all that? should be villain. If she loved me she would trust me. She does not want me, and, even if she did there is Margaret. My God Tn, wrong would be to Margaret! How little I thought of that. Poor littl, Margaret-loving little girlr'
 The chestnut shifted his hoofs ant shook his head by way of variety. Tn,
 sunset had vanished, all but delicat, afterglow which faintly flushed tin,
 sky.
 ia man-with no more strengtl
 than that. I-boasting flesh and bloo'
 of which heroes are made-with n'
 courage to fight passion and keel
 true to a promised wife. Little Mar
 garet-please God she will never leari
 of this. Tomorrow will go back t,
 her"
 But from a crag hard by there aros
 suddenly a swift, shrieking night-bird
 and the mans plans were slain at thei
 birth
 With wailing note the bird strucl
 the air with its wings and wheeled ur
 wards to the sky. The chestnu ] started, swerved, reared, then tor } across the turf as if very fiend clunl at his launches. The man strove t
 grasp the slackened bridle and cur the creatures pace, but this latter wa impossible: the turf was slipper beneath his hoofs, the light was dir : and treacherous, powders were thick strewn all round about the summit c , the Tor, yet snorting, straininR
 stumbling, terrified, the horse flew or l on towards the sheer, precipitou f ground on the other side.
 l Then did the mans thoughts cours through his brain with the swiftnes ! of a mill-race. 'I am going to b l killed In a small number of moment l I shall be lifeless. I can never hol 7 him in-the Devils jump-it must b
 near. What will death be like, woI der? How sudden it all is. l am 3 die-I am to die now"
 , There came crash, stumble, tn r chestnut struck his hoof on the sian 7 ing side of bowlder, fell forward . rolled over, down-down-"Ma "Margare 1, my mother-will they ever know @9 A(