The Beaver herald. [volume] (Beaver, O.T. [Okla.]) 1895-1923, 1897-04-15


church, and il recalled tender memories
of the days of his youth.
Following it's sound he reached the
edifice. which stood in the midst of
neglected graveyard full of grave
stones, many of which were fallen or
broken in pieces. Tangles of bush and
brier were on every hand.
Entering the house of worship, which
he found to be already filled, he mod
cstly took a seat near the door and un
der the gallery OF the choir.
The day was Easter, and the plain
oaken altar bore large vases of sweet
flowers, whose fragrance had stolen all
over the audience room and made the
air of the April morning grateful with
its presence.
Soon the little organ sent forth a
peal announcing n prelude, and the
young man looked bored. But in n mo-
ment he assumed an attentive, rapt al
titude, and ripples of glad sunshine
played over his features.
A voice of marvellous sweetness rang
out within the narrow walls OF the
sanctuary. 1t was full. rich. clear, di-
vine almost, in its expression.
Bradnor thought of the angel song
OH the plain of Bethlehem. and closed
his eyes, as though to shut out all sis ht
icst the glorious harmonies be lost 10
him.
He did not think of the singer wheth-
CT old or young, nor of the triumphant
words of the hymn she sang. 1t was
her voice so intense in its earnestness,
sofutelike in its softness, yet so human.
withal. that had entered his soul.
Thenceforth he had no heart for the
prayers, nor the words that were read,
nor the sermon that WAS spoken. He
sat as one in deep sleep, from which
he only reused when the nefTable voice
rang out in its rich cadences. Others
mingled with it. but these he did not
hear.
When the services were ended he
slowly made his way to the village inn,
where he had been stopping during the
past week. There he inquired of the
landlord concerning the opuer of the
voice.
Boniface was a fat, wheezy fellow.
whose thoughts came slow and whose
speech was slower. Bradhor found it
necessary to repeat the question.
"She's Mrs. Kitty Travis" slowly
came the reply, wife of Tim Travis,
who"
20, the deuce!" calculated the young
man. as he turned disappoiptedly away.
The landlord stared at him with his
great google eyes in astonishment and
attempted a movement to call him
back, but Bradnor had disappeared
from the room. Several times during
the afternoon and evening the host es-
saved speech with his guest. but was
so halting in purpose that be never sue
eeeded.
Bradnor took an early morning train
for his home in Baltimore, and when
the sun rose the hills around the little
Virginia village were far behind him.
But he took with him memory of that
place, fresher and sweeter and purer
than the white lilies that grew in lux
uriance upon either side of the roadway.
1t was the voice of woman in the ivy
Inantled village church.
"Confound it," he muttered, "and the
owner of it is married. Yes, and doubt
less. gray and old and wrinkled. What
have you to do with the voice of a mar-
ried woman, or anything else that be-
longs to her. Victor Bradnor"
Still, though he sneered and reproved
himself. the voice quickened and sent
out repeated melodies in the great cham
ber of his thoughts.
White Sulphur Springs was filed with
people from all over the country and
among the throngs was Victor Bradnor,
who had gone thither not so much for
his health as to get away from the heat
of the city and the ennui that at times
oppressed him.
The evening was delightful one in
August. and Bradnor was seated upon
the yeranda of his hotel, holding high