The county record. [volume] (Kingstree, S.C.) 1885-1975, 1897-10-28
alienation of her lot was that the

! opposite side OF the Street, Oh tue
way to the club, where he had been
put up by some good-natured papa or
brother of pupil But this would
be little comfort, for Alice had given
her word, and she was a loyal crea-
ture. Nothing could be done, she
thought, as in solitude and despair
she sat in her own room, all bower
of tender green and peach flower silk
hangings.
Then the idea, sublimely juvenile in
its tragedy, emerged from her sorrow
| full mind. She could die! 1t is only
in later years that we learn that life
is not to be turned off, at will, like a
gaslight. She would die! And how?
Very simply. A rapid pneumonia, a
lingering consumption-either would
make touching end. She imagined
it all, with her exuberant young fam
tasv; and sang, transposing the key
to F minor, the sobbing staccato adieu
in which the poor Violetta regrets the
smiling dreams of her past.
Then Alice went into her dressing
room and plunged her feet, with the
dainty stockings of black silk and lace
insertion in hot water. Then, running
back to the larger room, tracking with
wet footprints the pink-and-green
carpet, she pushed an armchair near
to a window, opened the sash, seated
herself, and, favored by the winter
twilight, raised those charming and
soaked e1tremities to the sill, laid
back her head and closed her eyes to
take, literally, her death of cold.
There she sat for long time, weav-
ing who knows what wild dreams Of
love and death, until she could bear
the chill no more. After which she
rose, made careful toilet and went
downstairs to dine with her parents
and some guests-in fact, the Millard
family. She was even more than
usually gay, gentle, desirous to please
every one-proudly cherishing her
secret of suicide.
But fate willed to make her ridicul-
ous. The next morning, indeed, she
felt the i'll effects of the mad exposure.
And how? Oh, realism, what crimes
against the poetic are committed in
thy name! Truly, neither more nor
less than cold in the head-one of
these colds which are symphony in
sneezes; when the eyes weep on their
own account; when the lips are tumid
and parched and apart, because one
must breathe through the mouth if at
all; the nose-and Alice's was charm
ing, delicate, thoroughbred, little
nose-becomes red, swollen, shape
less, unremittingly importunate in its
demands for attention. What state
for heroine! Figure to yourself the
Tragic Muse with the shuttle!
Poor Alice was utterly desolate.
She detested her good lungs of Wig
orous contralto, which had resisted
the cold damps of the winter twilight;
she hated still more the weak little
nose that had succumbed. By force
of habit she went, a few minutes be-
fore 3, to watch for the passing of her
dear Anatole. At the supreme moment
her feelings got the better of her eau
ton; she leaned forward to look at
him; he glanced up, saw her and
bowed. Then a derisive smiled curled
his mustache; his shoulder gave a true
Partisan shrug, very expressive, Alice
shuddered into forlorn little heap;
he had seen her so dis6gured; that
horrible nose had . ended everything!
Otherwise, at least he might have
always loved her. But how could he
be expected to carry forever in his
heart the image of that inAamed face?
She had not been able to kill herself
only his love! Alice ran to the
mirror, assured herself she was fright
full, andwept bitterly.
Now appeared her mother, very
tender to her ailing child, with Cousin
Fred, who had answered q summons
in place of his principal, out of town
on an important consultation. 1t is
possible that Cousin Fred understood
something of the state of affairs.
Glow did you take your cold, Alice?"
he inquired.
'I took it on purpose-there!" she
brrst forth. Everything is cruel.
Let me dier'
Impossible to oblige you, my dear
little consin. But thereis one similar
case on record where the patient died
of sneezing, and his head had been
previously sliced off with so sharp
sword that he didn't know it, until he
exploded sneeze and his head flew
across the room. You, my good Alice,
have an acute coryza, which, being
interpreted, is bad cold in the head;
and 1 suspect that the larynx, ,pharynx
and eqiglottis-in fact, the whole Latin
quarter of your throat-may also be
somewhat involved. But you will
soon get over it. We get over all
sorts of things, you know" said the
young doctor, with an affectionate
common sense which made Alice feel
little less forlorn.
The next day this assiduous physi-
clan came again, bringing q box of
marchmallow caramels, and the latest
hit of possip-the elopement the even