The Winslow mail., 1897-01-09

Allan might finish his writing and come
in search Of the poison. 1t would then
be necessary for David to speak aloud
and explain, and his brother would
| suffer the torture of humiliation Ihat
would not do Better to carry away tue
| vial and make no explanations, UNLESS
they were demanded. He was about
TO steal ont of the room when the
thought struck him that his brother, If
determined. could secure death by other
means than this one bottle of poison.
There was a loaded revolver in the
dra wer-that must be taken away. But
what was to prevent Allan from obtain.
ing more poison?
He was accustomed to buy his own
medicines, and now he was strong
enough to get about. All, there were
so many ways!
The blind man seated at the table
wrote on, feeling his way carefully
along the folds in the paper. David
crouched upon the edge of the bed,
watched him and thought:
| NO, ncIcly W IcmON0 LILO HCdhS "a
death would not save Allan. The only
hope lay in appearing to him. in plead
ing with him for his own life, in ccnjur-
ing him by the love which held them
together not to do this terrible wrong.
What should he say? David was not
easy of speech. His very thoughts
were blunt, ill-assorted and confused.
Deep in his soul he felt that his brother
was about to make a miStake-one of
the most awful of which life contained
a possibility. This feeling was inde-
pendent of religion or Of superstition;
it was part of David's very existence.
But how was he to speak Of this to
Allan, who seemed to understand every
thing so much better than he?
And now it suddenly occurred to him
that he really did not know his brother.
Evidently this desire Of self-destruc-
ton had been in Allan's thoughts for
many weeks, and yet he, nearest to
him of all beings on earth, had never
been allowed to suspect 1t. This was
why Allan had been so calm and had
accepted his misfortune so lightly. Tor
lures of sorrow there must have been,
unspeakable agonies of ruined hope,
all endured in secrecy and silence. It
seemed to David that he himself, and
not Allan, must have lacked the power
of sight.
But what was to be done now?
The pencil was still moving slowly
over the paper. David rose from the
bed, and resuming his place behind the
blind man read on:
'"This concerns you and me and no
one else; is it not so, brother? The
world is far away from us; we are
alone together"
'Now, what has existence for me:
When first learned 1 was to be always
blind and a cripple there came with
the knowledge an impulse for death
But 1 put it away and said: No, let me
think of this more fully. The calamity
seems now to sweep over all of life.
Perhaps when 1 am more calm 1 shall
find that much remains untouched
So waited and thought, and in the end
I found one thing, the happiest of being
with you. That Is real and lasting, and
for a time l asked myself if it were
not enough. But I remembered that
my existence, wretched and useless as
it was, meant more of labor and hard
ship for you, and l thought, too, of
what sorrow you must feel for me, and
the pleasure Of being with you turned
to bitterness There was nothing left.
''But you-you love me and you have
a right to my life. 1t is for your sake
that 1 have spent these long weeks In
silent, solitary debate, after every other
doubt was cleared away. At one time
1 had almost decided to beg my life of
you, as might any other favor, but
dared not. Yet am begging it now
after have taken it.
"Dear brother, know that you are
unselfish. 1 believe that for my sake
you would give up the greatest happi-
ness which life affords-as 1 would for
you. Can you not, then, allow me the
little that I take when 1 deprive my
self and you of my existence? If, now,
the conditions were reversed-if l were
the one to be strong and well, while
you were crippled and blind-I try to
think of it in that way, in order that
may understand it better and judge
more fairly-I should, of course, feel
an intense SORROW"
What was the matter? The pencil
was moving slower and slower. At last
it stopped. David looked up at his
brothers face and saw it working
with strong emotion. Then, after a
moment the pencil went on:
that you should suffer so, and it
would be an unspeakable happiness to
help, to work for you-you would be
dearer to me than, thousand times,
than if"
ooh, what am 1 sayingp' exclaimed
the blind man, aloud. The pencil drop
ped from his fingers AID he threw him.
self back in his chair. II could not let
him CO." he cried; 'it would be cruel
in him to leave me. But I-what will
he-oh, Davyr'
He leaned upon the table with his
face resting in his open hands, while
David stood watching almost breath
less in the struggle to keep silent. Al
last Allan caught up the sheets of pa
per on which he had been writing and
tore them TO fragments
sit is over" said David He restored
the bottle to it's place and crept past
his brother out of the room. Presently
Allan heard the street door nOisily open
and shut and David's tread sounded