The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1898-08-17


seemed to understand. Truth to
tell, as the weeks went by no one
could have said that either of us had
come within winning distance OF
her. Sometimes it was I who would
go home in state of mental intoxi-
cation, while Chris would seem
pa]er and quieter than usual; then,
next time, Chris would come in with
the telltale flush to find me sitting
moody and savage. Never once did
we speak directly of it, but the
shadow was there, thickening every
day, and somehow from the first
it seemed to me that Chris, taken
on his merits alone, would be the
winner in this silent, desperate
struggle.
Desperatea Yes. One night in a
fit of pique I had absented myself
from the practice and for hours sat
planning how I could make him set
a match to the powder. About II
O'Clock he burst in, his face all
aglow.
"will, I've just heard the sweet
est bit of music ever written-her
own oomposition-Lottie's, I mean!
I can hear it nowl I caught her
playing it unawares, and what do
you thinks I've made her promise
to embody it in a violin duet to be
played by you and me at the next
concert. She can do it. She has
written more than one pretty song.
Will! Will! What is the matter?
What have donea'
1 had tried to sneer, but it was no
use. When he put his hand on my
shoulder and softly asked that, I
could only get up and walk from
the room. The lump in my throat
was too great for words. I knew I
loved him, but did mot know that
I hated him too.
Then for a month Of suspense
we saw nothing of Lottie Arnold.
She was as much an enthusiast as
Chris himself. Having set herself
to the work, her one fear was, I
suppose, that the duo would not be
finished in time. But at last came
a letter. It had nearly driven her
mad, she said, but we could judge
of her success if we called at her
house to try our parts on the fol-
lowing Wednesday evening.
The note was addressed to Chris.
For moment my jealousy famed
up SO that had almost snatched it
out of his hands as he read it. I
mastered that impulse, but knew
that the crisis was at hand now.
MY brain was in whirl all that
week. Scarcely word passed be-
tween us. And Chris, as he walked
beside me that Wednesday evening,
seemed to have grown haggard, and
he shifted his violin case from hand
to hand constantly. think he had
begun to understand.
Reaching the house, we were
shown at once into the sitting room,
and there sat Lottie at a piano, sur
by litter of papers. Per
haps she, too, realized something at
that moment, for she rose with q
start and a heightened color.
sIs it really 2 o'clocka seem to
be left behind the world lately. This
staccato finale has kept me in a
nervous tremble for days. Oh, and
She hesitated, plucking
at the velvet band at her throat,
quite childishly for her. "I-I'm
dreadfully sorry, but it isn't to be
duet at all. 1 found I hadn't posi-
bly, time to arrange the second part
as well as the accompaniment, SO
II abandoned it, and I really think
it goes better as solo," A strain
ed, never forgotten pause. Then, be-
coming herself again, she ran for
ward and touched my arm appeal
ingly. "You don't mind very much,
do you?" she asked in her sweet
voice.
All over in breath! 1 know l
stood stupidity still for a time, un-
able to get syllable past the SWELL
ing in my throat, while the floor
seemed to be rocking. So she had
written the solo-for Chris-and
with it ended all my dreams. I
wanted air. I murmured some
thing, caught up my violin and
went mechanically out and down
the stairs. At the door I stopped.
Some one had called me. 1t was
Chris, his face white and imploring
as frightened woman's.
"Will!" That was all he said
huskily as he gripped my arm. I
knew vaguely that it tmeant 'Sooner
than that, you can have the solo"
But that only maddened me the
more. I shook off his hand and
walked away home.
Three hours later he walked in.
1 think he had been wandering the
fighting a battle with him
self. He came straight across to
where I sat, with a palpable attempt
to speak and act as if nothing had