The herald., 1896-04-05

after year, to make everything Nothing
for each, the other being absent. Only
when they were bending their heads to-
gether in the solution of problems in
art and letters which they alone-and to-
gether- could comprehend. did they real
ly live. Mrs. Hilliard might be in the
dining room eating bread and honey
with her children or receiving callers in
money-they did not consider all that
any part of existence that made life
worth living. The duties required of
them in their households and in society
they got through somehow, but the only
relish in anything for either was when
the other was sharing 1t.
And yet it is with the most discreet in
frequency that they are to be seen to-
gether by themselves, although they are
in truth walking hand i'll hand every
step through every day of their lives.
So long as they know the whereabouts
of each other, when they can see ono
another across a room, or even across
the fields from their windows, they are
measurably content; when they cannot,
they are restless. waiting, looking, Won
dering, paralyzed for eitherplayor work
miserable-only the more miserable for
their wealth, futile to free them. Yet
there is nothing that the servants, most
vigilant of detectives, have ever talked
about. Absolutely Nothing!
Still, every morning glass of fresh
flowers ON the window-sill of billiards S
studio is the greeting returned by the
opening of window in the studio over
the stile. Every night the turning up
of Il light in billiards. studio sends a
"Good Night across his lawn to a cur
tain in the other. which has been raised
to receive it, and then is lowered in ans
wer.
1t is Nothing. and yet neither can sleep
if it be missing now.
/ surprised l1lniard one day when he
was distinctly not bored. 1t was at a
five o'clock and private view at a stu
dio in town. The little company had ga
thered half unconsciousiy about him,
fascinated to silence in listening to his
animated observations, SO rare of late,-
the wise, broad, witty. penetrating, yet
generous way in which he disposed Of
pretenders to the art here truly eXempli-
fed. Mrs. Henry was his companion.
dressed in dark velvet gown. coming
high about her slender throat. Her pale.
long, distinguished face, was glowing
like lily in bloom. Her eyes could not
conceal her delight in the rapt Difference
paid to Hilliard. But it was the COM
ing half-hour together in the carriage on
the homeward drive that was cxalting
both till they were already floating in
the only heaven they dreamed of or
cared for.
Nothing? Is it nothing. that in these
days, two, with every resource at their
free command, two for whom all the
rest of the world is nothing, hold them
selves nobly in hand. unwilling that
other hearts than their own shall he
wrung. resolved that no mock shall be
borne by others for their sake, convinced
that no such shock as they might give
it were they to fly from their orbits
should be borne by social order al
ready staggering under accumulated
scandals?
Nothing? Is there anything loftier
saintlier, more heroic than such sacri-
fee. such abnegation, such crucifixion
of self for others? In saints and heroes
of the storied past do we call such re-
nunciation Nothing?