The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1898-09-22


his story-I do not believe he had the
strength to carry it and further-and
sat gazing at the fire. And, Watching the
flames, the old prospector saw, per
haps, as | did, line of white ash cap
ping the black Goals and Counterfeit
ing the far-off snowy range. At last
his smile came back, new light
burned in his eyes, and he began to
whistle softly an old air linked, l fan
cied, with that happy valley life. And
while he dreamed of the far-off valley
home I travelled back over his story,
trying to picture what this late-com-
ing taste of real love and real life must
have been to such big-hearted child
Of the range. Such men as Snowdon
meet and mingle with but two kinds OF
women in their narrow way of life
good, but stupid; bad, but coarse.
And yet affection in them runs strong:
tenderness of heart, alertness OF mind.
gentleness of manner develop in a
working partnership with nature
nature wild and winsome by turns.
but always companionable. And .4e
woman-robbed of her childhood, mar
ried to coarse brute; then suddenly
to become the idol and companion OF
this clean-thinking, big-hearted man,
who could measure her new Joy in
living?
All this, and more, flashed through
my mind as I watched the blazing fire
and waited for my friend to resume
his story. AT last Tom, the waiter, at
a signal from me, brought two nSv,
glasses of grog. The noise OF tne
glasses as they were placed on the
table called Snowdon back from his
dream, and, pulling himself together,
he resumed his talk; but speaking
slowly now, for his tide of happiness
was swinging to the ebb.
MY! Howard, how happy we were
during those first days in London! We
tramped about to all the old palaces,
old cathedrals, old parks; sometimes
we merely stood still and took in the
wonderful crowds and streets. 1t was
a glorious thing to be alive. Clara had
read about all the places, and visited
most of them before, and she was so
happy telling me everything and show
ing me everything. We liked the old
abbey best; somehow, it always car
ried us back to the range. Well, like
that month passed away, then Clara
began to feel London air a bit heavy;
her mothers old heart trouble showed
itself; so | took a cottage down at
Richmond, out of London fog and noise.
My tunnel had been sold and part pay
ment made, and | had plenty of money.
There is no good telling of the
happy times we had in that little home
our home'-the only home, Howard,
| had ever known in all my life; l
don't believe l could tell you if tried
But every day, when got through my
work in the city, always hurried back
to Clara, and then we had a walk or
drive, or perhaps row on the river
till night sent us indoors with some
thing brighter and warmer than Col
orado sunshine in our hearts. We did
not plan the future; only one thing
had been arranged--we would pass the
winter in Egypt; this was Clara idea,
not mine. Dashed if | knew exactly
where or what Egypt was.
Zone night-it was last Thursday
[ was kept in the city later than usual
about two hours later-and it was
dark when l got home. When [ opened
the door, | called out: 'Hulloa. sweet
heart, here | am; sorry to be so late
| got 10 answer. Perhaps she's out
walking said to myself and went into
the dining-room-there was Clara sit
ting in her chair by the window.
"'Didn't you hear me, sweetheart?'
I said. Asleep, are you?' and then,
bending down, l kissed her. Her fore
head was like ice. | must have gone
mad then, for the servant came hurry
ing III to see what was the matter.
She saw at once what had happened
saw that Clara was dead, and-God
help me, can't go on"
Snowdon sprang from his chair,
walked rapidly to the opposite side of
the room, turned quickly, and, with
few long strides, was again facing
me. Passion in his face, passion in his
voice, he cried:
THAT was one week ago, since then
have been out of my senses; God only
knows how I've kept from killing my
self. Perhaps Clara has kept me from
that. She was a good woman, How
ard; I'd like to go to her this moment,
but suicide wouldn't send me to where
she is now
Dropping into the chair, Snowdon
covered his white face with his big
hands; strength and story had reached
their end.
1t was midnight, a crowd of men
from the music-hall at the corner
trooped into the smoking-room. The
sound of many voices and of laughter
fell on my spirit with the chill of an
east wind. l touched my companion
on the shoulder, and said:
"Old boy, you must come home with
me. I've lots of Colorado pictures, A
few days rest will pull you together.
Come on"
Snowdon got up, drew on his over
coat, and followed me, taking my arm