The Van Buren press., 1897-04-17


church, and it recalled 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 grave
stones. many Of which were fallen or
broken in pieces. Tanglcs OF bush and
bfier were on every hand.
Entering the house Of worship, which
be found to be already filed, he mod
esfly 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
lis presence.
Soon the little organ sent forth
peal announcing a prelude, and the
young man looked bored. But in mo-
nient he assumed an attentive, rapt at
iiiude, and ripplss 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 It's expression.
Bradncf thought of the angel song
OF the plain Of bethlehem, and closed
his eyes, as though to shut out all sic ht
lest the glorious harmonies be lost to
him.
lie did not think of the singer, wheth-
ei old or young, nor Of the triumphant
words of the hymn she sang. 1t was
her voice, so intense in its earnestness,
no futelike 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 q deep sleep, from which
he only reused when the inelrable 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 owner Of the
voice.
Boniface was a fat, wheezy fellow,
whose thoughts came slow and whose
speech was slower. Bradnor found il
necessary to repeat the question.
"She's Mrs. Kitty Travis" slowly
came the reply, wife of Tim Travis,
who"
20, the deucel" CALCULATED the young
man. as he turned disappointediy away.
The landlord stared al him with his
great google eyes in establishment and
attempted n movement TO call him
Lack. but Braduor had disappeared
from the room. Several times during
the afternoon and evening the host es-
sayed speech with his guest. but was
30 halting in purpose that be never sue
ceeded.
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.
Bat he took with him a memory Of that
place, fresher and sweeter and purer
than the white lilies that grew in lux
,irianee upon either side of the roadway.
il was the voice of a woman in the ivy
,nantled village church.
"Confound it," he muttered, "aud the
owner OF il is married. Yes, and doubt
less gray and old and wrinkled. What
have you TO do with The voice OF a mar
ried woman, OF anything else that be-
longs to her, Victor Bradnor2"
Still. though he sneered and reproved
himself. the voice quickened and sent
out repeated melodies in the great cham
Der Of his thoughts.
White Sulphur Springs was filed with
people from al over the country and
among the throngs was Victor Bradnor,
who had gone thither not so much for
lis health as 10 get AWAY from the heat
~ the city aud the ennui that at times
oppressed him.
The evening was a delightful one in
August. aud nrndnor was seated upon
the yeranda Of his hotel, holding b.gh