The Dickinson press., 1894-01-13
I.

shade Of IL real valley Of Poppies."
His fate was a singular one. He had
escaped being Il genius. He did every
thing we'll, but nothing more than we'll;
he was proficient in many things, but
cXcelled In nothing; he had Il taste for
drawing, music, literature, sculpture
In I'LL of which lie was not unskilled,
but he eXcclled in none. He was the
only son of his mother, who was n
widow; she had a life annuity which
died with her, and she had saved a
small sum Of money for him. He was
so brilliant and clever as a child that
she was convinced he would be a gen.
ius. She %endeavorcd in every possible
way to save, in order that she might
give him a good education. She sent
him to Rugby and to Oxford, hoping
that he would distinguish himself in
the church. He vas considered clever
and talented by the students and pro-
lessons, but he failed i'll all the examine
lions; his knowledge was too scattered
it was not concentrated enough. Aft
or that, he would not study for the
bar, he determined to live by litera-
ture. Mrs. Vane had implicit faith in
him until the last. She believed that If
he became a writer he would be III of
the lights of the world. She died be-
fore he left Oxford, leaving him the
result Of the savings of her whole life
an income of a hundred and fifty per
annum. He was young then in years,
but old in disappointment. Without
quite knowing why, he felt that his life
was in some measure over; he had
failed, and he could hardly tell how lie
had failed; he could not understand
where his life had slipped from his
grasp. He settled down in u pretty
little cottage orne at Dunwold, with his
books and pictures, and the numerous
works of art that he had gathered about
him. He resolved to dew )te himself
to literature; he mapped out for him.
self a life that was to be quiet and
retired; he determined to live for his
books, and care for nothing else. He
went out one summer evening, and re-
turned with a love in his heart which
was his doom.
He had gone, during the silent calm
of the summer evening, down to the
little church where the great lime
trees grew, and, standing underneath
them, he heard a strain of music so
clear and sweet that his whole heart
was melted, and his soul was moved
to listen. He could have fancied that
angel hands were touching the keys,
making soft, dreamy, beautiful music,
such as one could imagine floating
from the clouds.
1t took possession of him. He stood
under the lime-trees while the u vas
setting, the birds were chirping, and
the exquisite harmony was floating
through the air. Presently it ceased,
and in its place a sweet DrDoding ST.
fence fell over the earth. 1t was the
gloaming then. He had stood there
listening longer than he knew. From
the old stone porch there passed into
the gray evening light the tall, slight fig
Cre Of a young girl, with a fair, pale
face like none other he had ever seen.
1t was not beautiful, not pretty; but
there was something Of the light of
heaven on it.
She walked through the chur ,h-yard,
and down the green lane that led to
DCnwold. Then he recovered from his
trance, and seemed to understand that
tie young girl was the new organist,
Of whom he had heard the rector speak
as Of a girl all soul, and that soul all
music.
He went home with n dreamy, poet
ical face engraved on his heart, with q
love that was his doom.
He found means. some few days aft
erward, to make her acquaintance.
Scholar and student as he was, he loved
music; and the happiest evenings Of his
clouded life wer those he spent in the
old church, or under the lime-trees,
listening to the music which seemed
to ripple from those white soft fingers
He found that she was the child of IN
English father and an Alsatian mother
From her father she had inherited ar
English face and simple, honest Eng
lish mind; from her mother, Il soul filled
with music and dreams. She was NJ
orphan, and gained her livelihood by
her musical talents. She haa answered
the rector's advertisement for an organ
list, and had resided for some months
in Dunwold.
She was a genius. The rector saw
that ut once, and vas only too pleased
to engage her to instruct his children
80 that, with her different occupations
Elsie Redfern lived in comfort, an,
found her life very pleasant.
:. Francis Vane asked her to MARI.
him, and she consented. Their love
story was an idyl; they lived in til
midst of sunshine and music. Elst
was shy of speech. Sometimes, whel
he asked her to tell him how much sh
loved him, she would answer:
: II cannot tell you in words, but I vii
in music"
: And then her love would find expires
sion in music that wa inspired. I
was a love SO pure, so calm, 81 refined
that it seemed to have nothing Of cart
in 1t.
They were married, and went to tn
quiet, pretty cottage Francis Van
called home. He made his house
wonder of artistic beauty, with it
choice books, rare pictures, pretty sta
tuettes; it was an artistic home. H
took especial pride in his garden-al
old-fashioned, understanding place
such as poets might %haunt-and tn
choicest part of it was the beautiful
bed of white h%yacinths which became
poor Elsie's pride.
For Sour years they liv ri together
. q life such as is rarely granted to NOR
tails, a life that was all poetry. The stu
dent spent it with his books, the wifi
with her music-marriage for once u,
~fction-two hearts, two souls, mad
one.
But the day came when the whit,
hyacinths dropped for. want Of care
and the notes of the grand old orgal
were still. Never more were the whit
hands to linger over the keys; neve
: more was the gentle face to shine wit
as the beauty OF the soul within. Elst
sr Vane Lag dying, with the baby abe ha
longed for in her arms.
1t was not like dying; her heal
% seemed to have always been half
n. heaven. She had expressed her feelinI
more by music than by words; the
20. had always been something unearth
aud spiritual about her; and now,
It, she Law diving. there was a light
her face which made those who saw
wonder. Her mind wandered ut tim
- during those last hours; and her h,
: band noticed how often she spoke
her favorite flowers, the white by
cfnths Whom eho dinH ho tOnk on