Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1895-02-14
HIS COUSINS WIFE.

ne came UONu 10 TIE sTlliu Siu river
bound plantation to visit his cousin,
whom his mother had taught MIN to
love and revere; and he experienced a
pang Of regret on learning that his
cousin was away from home for an in
definite length Of time.
While he sat in the old-fashioned par
Tor thinking of his dead mother and
this unknown cousin whose generosity
had so cheered his life, his cousins
wife came in to welcome him with
warm, outstretched hands, and after
that he almost ceased to reckon time.
She was so much younger thar he
had expected. and so bewilderlngly
lovely that he was content to stay on
and on, dimly conscious that he was
dishonorable-that he ought 10 go away
yet finding 1t more impossible as the
DAYS went by, and soothing his uneasy
conscience by the assurance uiat he
ought to wait till his cousins return.
DAYS heightened into weeks, and he
began to feel as IL his cousin were a
myth-a dark, cloudy, threatening
dream. They had never talked or him
much. and now his name e passed
their lips.
Sometimes when they sat together,
on the wide veranda overlooking the
swollen river that Tapped hungrily
against the levee, he caught a glimpse
of something like despair in her eyes
md noticed the pathetic, downward
curve of her lip. OF what was she
thinking? He would have given half
his life to know.
She had been watching a whitening
ed frui: lugger and, turning to him,
caught the anxious questioning OF his
pale face.
What do you see out there?" she
asked: Did you think you saw some
one drowningY"
"Drowning?" He shook his head;
then his glance met hers, and suddenly
he lost all desire TO hide his feelings
for her. He bent forward, resting his
chin in his hands, and a glow suffused
his boyish features; he would have
spoken then, but she interrupted him
with a half-frightened wish to make
him stifle what she knew ne must not
tell.
How horrible it must be to drown"
she said hurriedly-'to feel the terri
BILE, dark waters closing in upon one
pressing dOwn-down-into that hide
Gus. filthy slime"
You are mistaken he answered;
IN the second of time she had given
he had regained his Self-control, and
the excitement that bad darkened his
and redeemed his cheek had faded,
too; ~ would rather drown than die
any other way; just think Of lying in
the soft, cool water, letting the little
waves kiss you as the darkness re-
ceives you-the still, cool darkneSs-'
Hush, you are ghoulish! What do
you want with silence and darkness!
! want you to go out into the light and
make something Of your talents. l
want TO hear of you sometimes, after
you ~leave-uS!''
She held out her small, white hand
TO him, and though he h%unCcred tC kiss
it ~paSSiOnatCly, yet he wilfully miSun-
derStOOd, and, STOPPING, lifted her hand
kerUhicf from the floor and gave it to
her.
Many nights he paced up and down
the mOOnlit veranda. after she had
gone to her room, trying TO tear him
self away before her husbands return.
Yet the memory OF her dark, hopeless
eyes and wistful lips drove all the
blood in his body surging from his
heart to his brain and back again. till
he was Tiddy, and pressed his fore
head against the ca waite pillars to
feel the breeze from the liver ripping
his hair.
Then in the morning he lost all wish
to go, and lowered about her, like the
wrctched moth that kisses the light till
his body falls dead.
Once he nerved himself to ask a few
questions about her husband. who must
o2 OF a strange character to leave her
thus alone for weeks at a time. She
looked at the boys handsome face
and half smiled; then. pointing 10 q
bit of driftwOod tossing on the waves
In the wake of a passing steamer, she
said earnestly.
Women r like yonder piece OF
drift-they only live in the wake of a
II ms life, r tossed by the careless
movements hither and tbither as long
as they can follow-and then"
Her embroidery had fallen from hcs'
hands; now she took it up again, laugh
ing with forced gaiety.
'"Then-there are always these i'm
possible flowers, in impossible colors,
TO console us. Our ideals and our
flowers are alike-impossibler'
III.