The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1897-08-28

KIND, tnat TO stay on WOulQ De WOTSe
torture than the loss of his arm. When
Maxwell returned, as of course he
would. his suffering would become un-
bearable. He was not so strong as
he had been, and things cut deeper;
he would he better away in town.
Then Anna learned that their guest
meant to quit them. Anna had chang
ed of late; she professed to be tired
of dancing, she said she no longer cared
to hunt, that she liked best to be quiet
at home. She had grown very gentle,
very womanly, and her gray eyes
would become wonderfully soft and
tender when they rested on owen
Royce's disfigured face and poor
manned body. They became strangely
wistful now as she said softly:
"But we would rather you stayed"
STILL must CO." he answered. pick
ing up his book with unsteady fingers.
She was behind his couch, and stood
looking at him in silence with an oddly
frightened expression; then she blushed
hotly over cheek and brow as she said
inconsequently:
Il did not want Gerald Maxwell to
come for Christmas. / told Jack not
to ask him; butt did want your here"
sofa drew his breath quickly, and from
somewhere far above his head tear
splashed down. 1t lay on the scarlet
silk cushion. a round, dark stain. He
raised himself quickly and looked at
her. Yes, the tears were raining down
her face. With his left hand he caught
her dress.
Anna" he said, hoarsely, did you
then that I loved Won o''
Yes" she said in whisper, "I read
it in your eyes when you caught my
horses head on that awful day. Louisa
had guessed it before, and told me, but
l had not believed"
He was lying back again on his pill
lows, watching her with quiet, hopeless
eyes.
Yes, heaven knows. I loved you,'
he answered Then he told her what,
on that summers day, he had over
heard in the vicarage garden. You
did not love me then, Anna. Now
am disfgured and a cripple. You are
kind and good-I understandable it
! is only pity you can have for me. You
would not marry me, save in pity"
She was on her knees beside him, half
| laughing, half crying.
"In PITY In pride and joy. Did I
not say A tall woman must marry a
small man.? Are you too proud to
| take a tall wife, owen? Must die an
! old maid because l am overgrown?
| Don't you know that to me you stand
| high among men; that your Scared
! face is your V. c.; that your empty
| sleeve is your badge of glory? Don't
| you know that had you died under the
train, l should have had no wish to
! live? / knew whom l loved then If
you are too proud to marry me because
| of your poor arm-because of my heed
| less. stupid speech-then I am not too
proud to say that your pride will make
| one wretched woman. And, owen, /
am not too proud to accept your pity
! but the pity is yours, not mine, to
give"
1t was not the stately, beautiful
! bride who made the sensation of
the day at the Greyland wedding. For
once in a way the bride occupied the
second place; it was the Scared, one
armed bridegroom who drew the hur-
rahS from the villagers, as he passed
up to the church; in him they recog-
nized a nero, and they loved a hero,
whatever his shape or form. With
deft. clever hands Louisa had decor
ated the old church for the bridal;
from her seat at the organ she listen
Cd to the shouts of the crowd; she
guessed they were called forth by the
| empty sleeve across the bridegroom s
| breast. 1t was easy to recognize the
| grit in the man when he bore such a
badge, but she had known 1t without
| any shave of a tragedy. Through the
service, which was the completion of
the little drama at which she had
| looked on, Louisa sat with her plain,
calm face, directing her small choir
with her usual skill; her dull brown
eyes We're a trifle duller and heavier
than usual, had any one noticed her,
but no one did. Under her touch the
| organ crashed out the jubilant, trium-
phant chords of the"Wedding March"
1t crooned softly and TREMENDOUSLY its
bridal song.
Louisa plays well to-day She is
grand!' said Royce to his WIFE "She
makes the organ speak of love. Lis
| ten!"
She speaks of what she has never
known" said the bride pityingly.
| Poor Louisa!"
But the organ knew better, and with
the woman's fingers on the keys, it
spoke out its knowledge of a woman's
heart, clearly and fully; it's tones
swelled up to the vaulted roof, and
then they whispered, and faltered, and
died away into the solemn stiffness of
the deserted church.