Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1897-05-08
WON BY HER VOICE.
By WILLIAM RossER coBBE.

Victor Bradnor, capitalist, travel
ler,critic, man Of the world and Gym
ic, heard the ringing of the bell of
the quaint colonial church, and it re-
called tender memories of the days
of his youth.
Following its sound he reached
the edifice, which stood in the midst
of neglected graveyard full of
gravestones, many of which were
fallen or broken in pieces. Tangles
of bush ard brier were on every
hand.
Entering the house OF worship
which he found to be already filled
he modestly took a seat near the
door and under 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 prelude, and the
young man looked bored But in a
moment he assumed an attentive,
rapt attitude, and rippies of glad
sunshine played over his features.
A voice of marvellous sweetness
rang out within the narrow walls of
the sanctuary. It was full, rich,
clear, divine almost in It's express
sion.
Bradnor thought of the angel song
on the plain of Bethlehem, and clos
ed his eyes, as though to shut out all
sight lest the glorious harmonies be
lost to him.
He did not think of The singer,
whether old or young, nor OF the
triumphant words of the hymn she
sang. 1t was her voice, so intense
in its earnestness, so futelike in its
softness, yet SO human, withal, that
had entered his soul.
Thence!orth he had no heart for
the prayers, nor the words that were
read, nor the sermon that was spok-
en-. He sat as one in a deep sleep,
from which he only reused when the
ineffable voice rang out in its rich
eagerness. 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 stoppig dur
ing the past week. There he inquir-
ed Of the landlord concerning the
owner of the voice.
Boniface was fat, wheezy fellow,
whose thoughts came slow and whose
speech was slower. Bradnor found
it necessary to repeat the question.
"She's Mrs. Kitty Travis" slowly
came the reply, "wife of Tim Travis
who"
80, the deuce ~ calculated the
young man, as he turned disappoint-
edly away.
The landlord stared at him with
his great google eyes in astonish-
ment and attempted a move to call
him back, but Bradnor had disap-
peared from the room. Several
times during the afternoon and even
ing the host essayed speech with his
guest, but was so batting in purpose
that he never succeeded.
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 be.
hind him.
But he took with him memory
of that place, fresher and sweeter
and purer than the white lilies that
grow in luxuriance upon either side
of the roadway. 1t was the voice
of a woman in the ivy.mantled vii
lage church.
"Confound it," lie muttered, "and
the owner of it is married Yes,
and doubtless old and gray and
wrinkled. What have you to do
with the voice of married woman,
or anything else that belongs to her,
Victor Bradnor 2"
Still, though he sneered and re.
proved himself, the voice quickened
and sent out repeated melodies in
the great chamber of his thoughts.
X
White Sulphur Springs was filed
with people from all over the coun.
try and among the throDgs was Vic
tor 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 veranda of his hotel, hold
ing high converse with an old &C.
quaintance he had first met at Flor.
ence, and later at London.
This friend was languidly telling
OF misadventure he had on goH-
dola at Venice, in which q fair Ven
ethan maid figured, punctuated by
an involuntary bath in the blue wa
tiers, when, suddenly Bradnor leaned