The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-05-16
SCENE III.


SCENE III.
Another pause of years, and when the
curtain rose again Sylvia Wayne was a
woman of thirs%, and the gaslight was illu-
minating every corner of her large and
well-equipped study. Only prosperity could
nave given the indefinable air of elegance
to all the appointments of the room and to
the dress and bearing of it's occupant. But
only a sudden, crushing sorrow could have
thus bowed her head upon her arms before
the professional-looking desk and brought
about a'despairing abandonment to grief,
the more striking because so alien to her
nature.
While she sat in this attitude in the
pleasant room, so silent in it's brightness,
a stiff paper futtered from her hand to the
floor and lay at her feet. 1t bore the an
nouncement of a marriage that had taken
place the day before, the marriage of the
man to whom she had given her final
answer on the hillside near her home, hun
dreds of miles, ages of time, away. Since
then, success, good cheer; ambition, salts
a host of friends and admirers, a noble and
dominating purpose crowned; and under
meath it all the late but imperious awaken
ing of a romans heart. Then the growing
conviction of the emptiness even of her
large and useful life; the longing, the un-
formulated hope; now, this!
L AC II Jul Z OlA6lIly dlAQ ollClllly VII
the hearth; the stiffness was u~nbroken. AT
length she raised her head. In those few
minutes her face had changed so much that
1t seemed scarcely to belong to the same
woman whose personality had impressed
itself in brightness upon everything about
her.
For myself, it is all over,' she whis-
pered: but there is still my father. He is
proud of me and loves me-for his sake"
A soft knock at the door and a maid en-
tered, carrying a little silver tray.
Here are letters for you, DR.. Wayne"
she said, and withdrew.
For a long time the lonely occupant of the
great room sat buried in deep and sorrowful
thought; everyday life seemed too difficult
and. too far away a thing to be taken up
again Immediately.
But finally, with a dreary gesture, she
took up and opened mechanically one of
the two envelopes which had been laid be-
fore her. 1t was a letter from her father,
who had gone 10 a distant land in search
of the health which at home had failed.
tered a chamber of horrors. yet only half
comprehends. 1t was a confession; his life
Was nearly spent and he could not die
burden that had broke him down in health
and sent him away on his long journey
that he might not see his daughters sin
cere and trusting eyes. He was a guilty.
a dishonorable man; in his position of
trust he had taken what had not been his;
he had been, .he was. no better than the
commonest thief. When he died-it would
be soon-he would leave a memory of dis
honor for his daughter and a debt that
could never be paid.
The other letter, written a few days later.
was from her fathers agent in Calcutta,
giving, the particulars of the ~latter's death.
1t spoke of a cable message which he had
sent her, and which she had not received;
1t told of the disposition which had been
made of her fathers few effects.
Far into the nisht sat the stricken
woman, n few hours before so young and
buoyant and full of hope. gazing straight
before her into the dying embers of the
fire. Her hands lay clasped in her lap: her
face was like a mask of stone, and her eyes
were devoid of expression of any kind
whatever, whether of sorrow or suffering
or even despair. There is a point beyond
which one ceases to cry out. and the bodily
frame recognizes its inadequacy to express
the anguish of the spirit. A tiny clock at
the other end of the room gave the stroke
of ], which fell with startling distinctness
upon the surprised silence.
Then Sylvia turned, with a strange and
carefully selected phial she took a number
of small tablets. and, dropping them one
by one into a curiously shaped goblet half
full of water, held it up between her eyes
and the light with unshaking hand. and
watched the opaque w%hiteness dissolve.
Then she walked TO the mantel before the
crate, with the glass in her hand. and
stood there looking down, once more. into
the heart of the few remaining embers.
Finally. with a sad little half-smile. she
raised the goblet to her lips and held IL
the old-time characteristic shake of her
bright head. she inverted the glass so that
It's contents Kissed upon the hearth. She
stood up straight ana lifted her eyes, and
her face was illumined by the light of a
beautiful courage and resolve.
No, 1 will live she said, in a clear. re-
sonant voice. ITO pay this debt of his, TO
clear his name. For honor's saker'
Thus, unheralded, unrecognized. came and
passed the one sublime moment of her life,
and her early question was answered.
The penciled words on the scrap of pa
per Hilliard had given me were these:
The reason 1 have been permitted to