El Paso daily herald. (El Paso, Tex.) 1881-1901, 1899-07-14

i,
wound-only an infnitude of pain.
But that of yesterday was the broad
blade that kills at one stroke.
And again, as it broadened and
deepened and faded, like moonbeam,
away. ssThat of yesterday" he muir
injured. twas remuneration; with its
battle. its victory, its sublime triumph,
its transient peace; today's is resigna-
tion-a submittance which has naught
of battle, Of victory, of triumph, but
only pain. Today's is the end, an end
that has no end
But as he lay there, hands clasped be-
hind his tired head, lips parted in
smiIe-a smile unlike his, for it had
naught Of scorn in it-there broke upon
the silence the opening bars of little
prelude dainty and sweet in itself, but
the manner of its playing veritable
triumph in mediocrity. 1t walled and
cried laboriously above the Poets head
and echoed about the window. 1t broke
into painful snatches and Indifferent
rhythm.
The Poet sprang to his feet with an
exclamation of Impotence. 'To spoil
that with thisl' he cried. "Oh, how
can shel'' He bit his lips wrathfully,
altogether spoiled and, his anger con-
quering his WEAKNESS. he ran lightly up
the narrow stair.
without preface or prelude, and began
in a high pitched, womanish voice,
sWhat in the world''- Then he
paused, for he found she was crying. A
little, middle aged woman, with a
ok o1-S hat
fell in cloud about it. She was stand
ing in the middle of the room with her
music stretched out fatty on the table
and her violin and bow in her hands
standing, the tears running thickly
down her pale cheeks, without making
any attempt to wipe them away.
The Poet felt even angrier than be-
fore Women of that age had no right
to cry so openly, he thought. It went
against all his theories. He was angry,
young.
s'What an abominable row. he said
savagely. "And what are you crying
about2 But it is enough to make any
one cryi'' He was not far from tears
| himself with vexation-
She looked up at him wistfu1ly-she
was but little thing-and without
| any apparent surprise at his presence
or abrupt entrance. "Ahl should not
have played again." she sobbed. latter
after had given it up. 3"
eThen I had guessed arightr' cried
| the Poet. yesterday it was renuncia-
ton and today resignation But what
had you given up? What have you re
nounced2 To what are you resigned ?"
81 don't understand you" she said
uncomprehendingly She laid her violin
on the table, hanging over it as moth
er does over her child.
"When you played yesterday
''But I didn't play yesterday" she
cried ct wanted to-oh, so badly. The
storm cried to me, the wind cried and
the sea cried, and heard them all
took my violin in my hand, but could
tell nothing Of what heard Oh, how
unhappy wasi Then drew the bow
backward and forward across the
strings, but without touching them,
and imagined it all. I caught the Sob
bling of the sea god on the end of my
bow. sent out the cry Of the gulls''
"And the spray of the seal' cried the
Poet.
..And the eddy and gathering of the
| foam
"And the mutter of the waves. -
'tAnd thought of how might have
played had not something something
been wanting. Oh, cried to God tc
give me the power to play as-as my
soul could play but for this thihg-this
me that cannot.
"The cry for the unattainabie, the
Poet whispered to himself. but she die
not hear or heed him
81 made resolution. She dried he1
tears briefly at the recollection of it
Good would not give me my desire, Sc
1 gave up my semblance of it, for
wanted to keep my ideal Then, when
had quite made up my mind, how
could have played thenl But it would
not come"
''The triumph, - said the Poet. HI
smiled imperceptibly to himself.
''But today it was all so dreary. L
was all over, and there was nothing
left And after I had thought how il
was all over and my last note played
thought I would again say goodby tt
my fiddle. And I fetched it out ani
played goodby, but without making {
sound. And felt not bit sorry, bu
only strange feeling here" She pu
her hand on her heart. 80 played /;
real little bit to see if it would take i
away"
He did not speak. His dream hat
come back to him, and his thoughts
like white clouds, foated far. far away
Oh