The western sentinel. [volume] (Winston-Salem, N.C.) 1887-1926, 1897-04-22
ALL FOR LOVE.

A grave faced, bread shouldered young
Englishman w6s racing the deck of an At
tantic liner bound for New York.
He was big and prosperous looking.
Perhaps the heavy chinchilla overcoat with
high collar turned up about his ears to
protect him from the stiff, salt scented
breeze lent him this air of prosperity. His
blue eyes looked out steadfastly, a little
sternly may be, at the empty deck and the
gray waste Of waters. The other passen-
gers were singing and dancing in the cab
in, but George Reynolds found the society
of the lowering sky and the lonely stretch
of waters more to his taste.
The tinkle of musical instrument fell
upon his ear Was it the piano in the cab
in speeding the feet of the dancersf Not
that. The sound was wild and plaintiye
nd in keeping with the storm threatening
i day. The Englishman followed the strange
music to its source. Down among the
steerage passengers young girl was
drumming broken tambourine bedeck-
ed with soiled ribbons. She sat a little
apart from the rest, her head bent over the
instrument, which sobbed and sang alter
nately beneath her touch.
A bent, witchlike crone saw the atten-
tive attitude of the English intruder.
"Play something gay for the gentleman,
Felice,'' she whispered.
! The girl lifted an oval face of dark per-
/ lection, swept laughing glance from her
| slumbrous black eyes at the young man,
and the waihng strain changed to a bar
| barrie song of adventure and proves, of
| beauty and love. She sang, too, in low,
! subtle voice with weird notes in it. The
| Englishman did not understand the words,
but the mystic language of youth and hope
and waiting love was tantalizingly intel
| GgiDle.
| He looked long at the dark, birdlike
! head, the slim, nervous, brown fingers, the
! tawdry gypsy fnery and listened to the
j velvety contralto voice. He was drunk with
rapture.
| "Ahl But you do not know the Ian
guage of the hills and the rivers and the
! weeds. Come with me and learn them,
my own. The smoke of this great city sti-
/ fies me. Its roar makes me deaf.
| "At night, when you sleep, push aside
/ the curtains that / may see the moon, and
| she talks to me mysteriously, and think
I am in camp in the mountain road
where I smell the pine trees and where the
falling stream sings to me. Oh, dear one,
1 must go or / die"
George Reynolds listened sadly to the
! words of his gypsy wife. He had married
her when they reached New York. They
. lived in pretty suburban cottage, and he
was engaged in a small but thriving bust
ness in the city. His dream of wife and
home had been realized. That of compe-
girl was affectionate. She was true, but
the barbarous instincts of her ancestors
could not be wholly crushed.
Gifts and caresses no longer diverted
her. She wept on his shoulders each even
ing when he came home. She craved the
wild freedom of her girlhood life. She
could not live without it.
'tYou are used to the factory, and the
shop, and the crowded street, she said,
"but they kill me. must go, but will not
! you go, too, my husband?"
He lifted her arms gently from about
his neck and went out into the street. For
hours he walked about aimlessly. He
could not restrain her longing for her old,
wandering life. He might be a cruel Jail
er, but then she would learn to hate him.
1t would be worse than death to see her
turn from him in fear. But the business
and the homei All the instincts of his
conservative ancestors in trade rose in re-
bellion against giving them up. When he
j unlocked the door and stepped into the
little rarlor, he had not decided
His wife had thrown herself upon the
| sofa in a passion of tears. Childlike, she
had cried herself to sleep. She sighed and
her lips trembled as her sturdy, troubled
husband looked down upon her.
The struggle was over.
He kissed her forehead
81 will give up all for you, Fe1ice,'' he
said.
1.-THE gypsy king is dead,'' said the
jewellers in south San Francisco to each
other, and they went to the camp to view
| the remains.
He lay in coffin that looked strangely
out of place in the small tent. 1t was as
elegant as that in which the rich factory
owner had been buried the week before.
| His features were calm and strong, and
his limbs must have been very powerful
In life. His gray hair had still some gold.
en- threads in it. His skin was as fair as
an infants. 'tHe is white man. whis
pered the curiosity seekers and stole away
to gossip about it.
A small, dark woman, pretty still, al
though past her prime, wept broken heart
eddy over the coffin. Come away, mother
you must rest said a tall young man
who stood beside her. "He has blue eyes, y
whispered girl who was peeping into the
tent. ''Whoever heard of a blue eyed
gypsy?'
The funeral service was read next day
by Episcopal clergyman in robes
George Reynolds was an honest man, u
he said, "a devoted husband and father. !"
1t was true. Was his sacrifice too great.
Is the motto, "All for love and the WORLD
well lost, F" more ignoble than "All for the
world and love well lost?''
The dead mans face was very strons
and very peaceful.-Ada Patterson in St
Louis Republic.