The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1897-03-13

had met her none had paid her very par
ticular attention, nor considered her to be
anything more than rather nice, though
somewhat shy, young lady. Those who
liked Irritation had even complained that
there was no fun to be got out of Robin
Ashworth On that score they were
doubtless correct. Fun, as understood by
these chatting blades, was not at all in
Robin Ashworth's line.
She was not pretty. At least her face
conformed to no recognized aesthetic can
ons. Critics would have had many dis
paraging remarks to make about her,
which need not be here set forth This is
what Reggie Burdett saw. He saw a face
of very clear, but very pale, complexion,
crowned with profusion of the deepest
chestnut hair He saw large brown eyes,
rather grave and solemn. He saw mouth
which seemed to be the concrete express
ion of sensitive mobility. But | do not
think he paid much heed to what he mere
ly saw. That, after all, was only the me-
dunn; the wire which conveyed the current,
not the force which set it moving. In the
realization of that force he was actively
conscious of very little else.
Hes saw her frequently after this first
meeting. He never lost chance of going
where he knew she would be- But he
only worshipped in secret, and adored in
silence. He made no love to her He
could not. To mention love to her with
out asking her to marry him was impossi-
ble And how, in his circumstances,
could he ask her that? He-hopelessly
indebted free from harrassing anx-
iety-always face to face with the ugler
facts of life. Till now he had not realized
the full bitterness of his position. To find
himself suddenly on the threshold of para
disc, yet to be chained back from ever en-
tering by indissoluble fetters which he
himself had forged !
Time went on. His fortunes did not
mend-how should they? Even if he
settled down to work his hardest, and ul-
timately succeeded in recovering himself,
that would only be after many years.
And in the meantime Robin would become
the prize of some rival suitor A flower
such as she was could never remain hang
ing long upon the tree.
So his tongue was tied And the weeks
went aimlessly on for him without his
coming an inch nearer to the compass of
his heart desire His outer, practical
self groped its way through heavy mist
of chilling hopelessness, feeling after a
something which he knew he should never
grasp, dreading all the while, lest, if the
mist did lift little, it would only be to
show him that another, favored by light in
his searchings, had already laid hands
upon the prize.
True, he had his moments-nay, his
hours of happiness; hours when his inner,
his imaginative self lived and loved, and
conquered, in realm of airy fancies; when
difficulties and obstacles vanished like
smoke before his bold endeavors In these
hours he had only to rouse himself, and his
chains were snapped. He flung them off
as cobwebs. He walked serenely through
the gate of heaven He went to the side
of his radiant angel, who awaited him
within. He claimed her. She acknowl
edged him. And they, hand in hand,
with never faltering tread, explored the
city of perennial sunshine.
But ever and anon his other self would
wake and rudely dissipate the dream, scat
tering its relics to the four winds, forcing
him to realize his unchanged imprison-
ment-laying icy fingers on his heart still
warm from Eden sunshine. Lethargic,
hopeless, desperate, cropping, nevertheless,
feebly after the unattainable, and know
ing all the while he was bound to fall-this
was his real self. His other selflived only
in transient dreams.