The White Pine news. [volume] (Treasure City, Nev.) 1868-1906, 1897-09-11

VIZ SAAoooA VI hCN AalI udlT, lue curves
of her lovely face, the folds of her soft
white dress From the terrace above
the sound of the music came family in
a dreamy air. A warm, light breeze
touched the laces and ribbons of her
dress and swayed the leaves above them
till the little lights and shadows danced
to and fro over her figure and the flow
ers on her lap. The years had only add
ed to her beauty, and they had been SO
long apart.
Better that you had not-in the end
better a thousand times. We must pay
for it afterward with such a heavy
pricel Fate has been such a heavy usur-
er to US, my La"
IF coui,. only pay for both of U.S. -
said Stair. But, in spite of the price,
tell Inc, Margaret, you ire glad that we
have met. Let fate exact what price
she will, tell me that you are glad just
for one minute-glad to be together and
alone, dearest"
His lips touched hers, and for u mo-
ment her head lay OH his shoulder. The
music walled above them, and the
breeze gave q shivering sigh and left
them alone, while for u minutes space
life and time and the universe itself
were forgotten. Then with a football as
light as the leaves which the breeze
stirred a woman came round the curve
of the f1owery screen and stood before
them. She was very small and plain,
with a wan, white face, from which
the pale hair was parted in sedate,
smooth bands, and her dress fell in
somber folds upon the rosy blossoms
which the wind had scattered from
Margaret's knees to the ground. Her
empty hands were interlaced, one upon
another, and pressed against her bosom.
"I-heard you-a little while ago"
she said after a moment, while Stair
and Margaret sat dumb. ~ was on the
seat beyond. l heard Johns voice and
what he said. l am Martha"
Stair had sprung to his feet and stood
looking down at her. Margaret buried
her face in her hands.
az am Martha. " the level, toneless
voice went on gently, "'and-the child
my little son--is dead"
Stair made a step forward, but she
motioned him back with a gesture.
"He was i'll again, a month ago, aud
the doctors said | should try a warmer
climate. So l brought him here TO the
sun and the flowers. He died a week
ago. my little sou, and l came to gather
the flowers he was SO fond of and take
them to him. He loved the color, and
the earth is SO brown and cold upon his
grave" Again she clasped her hands
upon her bosom and looked at Margaret
with her sad eyes that were fearless.
81 heard you, John, and what you
said. 1t is true, I know. l am plain
and homely, and you married me for
pity. No, indeed, I do not blame you.
You were very good. Many men would
not have done SO much. And now-the
child is deadi And you''-she turned to
Margaret with a break at last in her
level voice-'tyou have gathered all the
flowers l could reachr'
Slowly Margaret lifted up her face
and looked at Stairs ~wife-wan, with
hanging black garments and hands
stretched out toward the blossoms on
her lap. Almost without knowing, she
lifted their mass of rosy color and laid
it in those empty hands. Martha held
them gently and stood looking at the
two for a moment-the man who was
her husband and the ome that he
loved.
civil take them to. the child, she
said.
She turned away. In one moment the
sunlight darkened to her eyes, and be-
fore Stair could catch her she had fallen
on the marble of the terrace.
She had taken them to the child
Madame.
John Thomas.