The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1897-12-05
THE SHAMROCK RING.

of her mind asserted itself with persistent
iteration on this mid-October morning.
In love? She, whom folks were beginning
to call an old maid with not a few gray
hairs among the brown, and two upright
lines on her forehead telling true tales Of
time and worry. She, whose love story was
over years before; whose hold on earthly
happiness was loosened when she heard of
Eric Stanham's untimely death in those far
Australian wilds. She, who had meant 10
go to her grave without giving Eric Stan
ham a successor in her heart.
In love? Impossible, in any way, but
doubly, trebly impossible in the manner
suggested by that little willy thought. In
love with a stranger man only seen two
months ago, whose very name she knew
not, to whom she had never spoken? I'm
possible-oh. impossible.
SO she had thought a week ago, but now
her heart throbbed with strangely blended
anticipation and regret. To-day for the
last time she was to take her familiar jour
ney in company with the unknown man
who had-in spite of common sense, as she
put it-become a silent part of her lonely
life. For the last time she reflected sadly
as she walked slowly up and down Rich
mond station Her train was not due to
start for some time, but she was early, few
erishly dreading to miss it on this particu-
lar morning. To-day her season ticket ex-
PRED, not to be renewed. Tonight she
would sleeper wake-under a strange roof
tomorrow her new life, more lonely than
ever, would begin in little fiat at Ken
slngton, Observation-Disclosures her sole de-
pendent and companion.
For six years Helen Percval had Travelled
almost daily between Richmond and Earl's
Court, in which locality lay her occupation
as drawing mistress. In all that time she
had met with no adventure had noticed no
one person more than another among her
felloW-passengers, until an August day. two
months ago; yet now the world seemed diff
ferent to her
For ten years her home had been with an
9ia iady cousin, who, when they removed to
RlchmOnd on account of her failing health,
had gladly borne the cost of a season ticket
SO that Helen might keep her town connec-
zion together, and yet devote a portion of
her life to the last remaining of her kin.
NOW the old cousin was dead, and as her
income died with her, Helen knew the cost
own means. hence the migration to a resi-
dence In closer proximity to her art schools
and private pupils. She was sorry-who
willingly gives up the delights of a semi
country life when it is possible to combine
them with town duties? She was sorry to
leave grave old Richmond, sorry to part
from broad-bosomed, cleaning Thames,
sorry to go no more up and down the
familiar iron road
But that was not ALL The shy little
thought had been shut up, nun-lke, in her
maidenly heart-maidenly as when she was
Switzerland she had not, knowingly, opened
the smallest chink for it to peep through;
but the little thought had crept out and
not meeting a decided rebuff, it had gained
courage and strength; until, on the morning
for her parting journey over the District
Line the shy little thought had grown to a
rampant and self-asserted statement. 1t
ceased all at once to whisper or suggest,
and said plainly to her fiuttering, old-maid-
ish heart:
You are in love! And you are sorry not
to see him any mOre!"
Was that true? But if so, how ridiculous.
Two months ago she had first noticed the
stranger. He entered the compartment at
Turnham Green, and his slight movement OF
civility about closing a window had caused
their eyes to meet. The frank. friendly
glance arrested her attention. and when he
became absorbed in the Financial News, she
looked shyly at him, they being the only
occupants of the compartment.
He was not handsome, she felt sure of
that, remembering Eric Stanham's comeli-
ness, and wiStfuly recalling the features
which she saw night and morning in the
little locket at her watch chain. No, he was
not handsome; but next day she admitted
that he was manly, stylish, distinguished
looking, and thus to her art-trained eyes he
was better than handsome.
Before week had passed she became
used to see him join the train each day, al
ways choosing her compartment BY sly de-
greeS she grew familiar with his grave, sun
Drowned face; the fine broad forehead and
arched eyebrows, the slightly aquiline nose,
crossed by a gold pince-nez; the. straight,
thinnish hair, close cut and sprinkled with
silver. His dark-brown eyes she rarely saw,
for he devoted himself to the newspaper,
whether their compartment was full or
empty: but he bestowed two looks day
upon the quiet gentlewoman in the corner
one when he entered the train, one when
Helen left it-and she soon began to calcu-
late upon and expect these looks; at first
from pure amusement, weaving all sorts of
fancieS about the stranger, his home, his
family, his wife, even.
But presently. she found that in a vague
indefinite way it hurt her to picture him
as the center of a home from which she
was shut out; giving and receiving hap
piness, in which she had no share. So she
herself, a waif in the world of happy fami-
lies, an odd unit among the millions of
matched and mated
But-the thought would crop up-if q
bachelor he was marvelously well cared for,
and surely a woman's hand arranged the
buttonbole he always wore. She soon de-
bouquet was no wired makeup from florist
or flower girl, but freSh-pulled blossom and
leaf often with the dew glistening on their
petals. He showed tasteful variety; a half
opened rosebud, a sprig of white jasmine,
a shaded pansy, or spray of scented YER
bena. When September Waned and garden
blossoms faded, the flower was sometimes
of greenhouse growth, alternating with
tuft of ruddy heather or cluster of purple
NlOlGlS. Iei6H was CRITICAL on the button
hole question; she knew exactly how
woman groups flowers for wear-her own
or anothers-and she was certain about
the feminine touch in her hero's daily
adornment
The weeks slipped by my Indian sum-
mer," Helen said to herself in those glad
September mornings, when, with tender
heart athrill, she looked shyly from her
corner of the padded compartment and felt
her days brightness and blessing come
from the two keen, kindly looks he gave
her
She asked no more She had outgrown the
flusEes and tremors of youth. the homes
and fears of dawning passion She believed
that the season of love was over for her
buried with her dead girlhood lapped under
the grasses of Erie Stanham's never-seen
grave.
But now that it had come to the last dav
the morning when, leaving the train at
EarIs Court. she could not reasonably ex-
pect to see her unknown friend again the
truth came upon her with rush Her In
dian summer! Yes she had lived in warmth
and brightness for season; not the warmt h
and brightness of capricious, often-clouded
spring, but the glow of gracious autumn
the glory of lifes harvest time. That She
had felt this JOY silently and unshared was
as nothing to her unasSumng unselfish
SOUL Suppose it was love that she felt for
this stranger, to whom she had never sno-
ken, yet whose mere presence made a home
of the proSaic district train? SIM
pose 1t was love? Need she grudge if the
precious, revived feeling which secretly
comforted her, and did harm to no creature
on earth? He could never know it. but
she might blamelessly keep the memory of
these happy autumn mornings in her heart
n sweet little secret and call he a.-~orio,,a,