Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1899-10-17
The UNSEEN SINGER.


l was alone in the little seaside town,
the sOlace of work being denied me be-
cause of the illness that had brought me
there to seek for health. [ was desper-
ately tired. and my nerves were IN
state that rendered all enjoyment impos-
Sible.
| used to lie late in the mornings, for
there was nothing to do but wander idly
on the promenade and the trivial pleas
ures of the crowd vexed me unuttera bly,
because l could not share them.
1t was only at night [ realized that
possibly this irkSome time of rest was
bringing me nearer to the recovery Of
my health Then l used to wander un-
til all but the latest of the visitors had
left the promenade. 1t was Impossible
not to be at rest. The GOODNESS of the
night. the soothing murmur OF the sea
and the shining yellow lights OF fish
ing village across the bay combined to
make Il perfect world. and as L watched
| knew that even the garlSh day might
presently give me pleasure again.
| had been perhaps fortnight IN the
place when first [ saw the lady of whom
| would tell you. 1t was only for mo-
ment. as she drove past in the company
u
sight was enough to fill my thoughts I'M
til [ saw her again upon the morrow.
She was beautiful beyond all words: L
fancied she could hardly have passed the
age of 20; and speech and hearing had
been denied her. She had the innocent
gladness that remains while they are yet
young with some who are thus afflicted.
She looked upon the world with beautiful
bright eyes, and, in spite of fate, was
we'll pleased to be alive.
But she was talking with her fingers
to the elder lady, her companion. in
whose eyes as they locked on the girl L
saw an infinite pity expressed.
That pity instantly invaded my own
heart, though its object was gone out of
my sight within few seconds of her ap-
pearance. and, despite the fact that /
knew not so much as her name, there
was mixed with the pity a sense of an
CRY rebellion against the fates who had
thus afflicted her, WantOnly robbing of
its value a generosity that through her
might otherwise have giaddened the wide
world.
Now, more than ever, I regretted my
loneliness, for | had no one from whom
| might expect to gather any informa-
ton of my gaining the privilege of her
acquaintance. | made some futile in
quiries at the hotel. and only got so far
as to be almost certain she was like my
self visitor.
On the next day at about the same
hour the carriage passed along the length
Gently glad to be alive. content to accept
her burden as if it were no burden at all;
it was with smiles she looked into the
plying eyes of her companion, and |
could fancy that the messages she was
conveying with swiftlymoving fingers
she saw around her.
My earlier questions had been adj
dressed to a quaint, elderly waiter at the
hotel, man who had III some sort made
it his especial task to see to my well
being, and who was the nearest ap-
proach to a friend I possessed within 100
miles of the place. 1t happened that
wasAlunching at the open window one
day when the carriage passed. Il little
earlier than usual.
THAT is the lady of whom [ was speak
ing" | said to him.
He looked cut of the window with
quick interest. "A dear little maid, if |
may say so. Yes and the poor dear is
deaf and dumb; she's talkin' upon her
fingers. Well, l thought from what you
told me that they must be strangers in
these parts, and so they are. don't even
know the horses nor the carriage
Thus passed several days. [ began to
find myself vastly better, and with the
growth of energy to look forward pleas
urably to the time when | should return
To lily NOIh III LOuuOu
My good friend. the waiter. had sue
ceeded, much to his delight, in getting
me to go for numerous drives through
the lovely country that surrounded the
watering place. [ had even on divers
occasions set forth on foot and explored
the coast and the inland lanes for my
self.
| went alone but [ never felt the alb
sence of companions, for my expeditions
always took place before Or after the
hour at which she might be expected to
pass along the busy promenade, and so
my thoughts were always busy, whether
with anticipation or remembrance.
Never once did she fail me; never once
did her affiictiOn seem TO mar the beautl-
full gayety of her mood. 1t appeared that
she saw and enjoyed every little thing
that could be seen; nor was 1t altogether
a young mans vanity that made me won
der whether she had begun to notice the
fact that a certain sallow invalid was
always idling on the promenade at the
hour when she drove by.
[ came to understand the routine Of
their daily outing. They were manifest
" living somewhere to the west of the
town. Every day they went through the
inland lanes at the back of it until they
were a mile or two to the east, and then,
descending seward. drove home by the
promenade and the road that skirts the
sea.
Now one day with no set purpose that
| would have confessed, not even to my
self, ] took the western road and went
into the country The road lies for some
distance between low hills and the south
ern sea; at first the suns heat was intol-
cradle, but gradually one mounted higher
and then the sunlight was but the fit ac-
compartment of the lively wind that
blew in from the sea- So | went forward
in the best of spirits until | had come to
the edge of great valley that runs in
land from the sea.
Some dozen or SO cottages and little
pier stood at the margin of the sea. In
land few houses were seen among their
fruitful orchards. But at the edge of the
slope there was a little space of wild
wood, and this as l looked across the
hoWer-grown hedge tempted me to rest.
climbed the intervening barrier and lay
down in the shelter of Il little oak tree.
1t may be [ slept. Certainly | was Il
long time under the oak before [ became
aware that L was not the only occupant
of the wood Some one was singing soft