The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1899-03-21
ONLY A STORY.

was outlined against the IN
painted wall of the depot, the stolid
look of Indifference upon their faces
seeming to make them akin to the
shriveled grass and dropping clover.
That they were really hopeless was not
without cause. The summer had been
hot and wretched and desolate. The
corn had dried before it came to a tassel,
the wheat had rusted and the meadows
Drowned before the haying time.
Game Denton took off his jaunty
straw hat and leaned from the window.
His quick eye took note Of the express
sionless faces of the loungers and their
attitude of hopelessness. "Poor devilsi''
he murmured to himself. "Wonder
what they have to live for anyway
The keen eye moved on past the I'M
painted buildings to the hot glare of
the sandy road. A child stood thrusting
her little bare feet into the dust and
watching him shyly under the shadow
of her sunbonnet. Caine whistled softly
under his breath-he loved a child-and
was rewarded by a shy smile, quickly
suppressed by the insertion of two little
brown fingers between the red lips.
1.-THE only bit of brightness in the land
scape, he thought, and as the train
moved l~aboriously forward, "and now
that is gone, " and he leaned back in
his seat YEARLY.
He was a handsome fellow, women
would say-and really they are the
117Aorn1 fhn urOr11 r,a1k I1-o-. A.
breadth of his shoulders and the depth
of his chest making one forget that he
was a little short in stature. Perfectly
formed, with the muscles of a gladiator,
he was a delight to the eye. Then his
face, clear cut, with a high, noble fore
head crowned with soft, wavy, brown
hair, the firm, square chin, the keen
blue eyes full of fire and intelligence
under straight dark brows, was remark
ably pleasing. One studying it would
say, HE is a financier, practical, firm
born to success, but in the mouth
there was a contradiction of this-a
certain full Tipped tenderness which in
Dictated a struggle with passion, the
kind which filings reason to the winds
and gloats in possession.
Was there anything wanting in his
life that was necessary to happinessY
No, the world would say. Wealth, sta
ton, hosts of friends, were his. Yes,
and love. All children loved him and
many women He had sown good seed
and brought many a broken life out of
darkness into light.
He had never married-the reason,
perhaps, because of the nonappearance
of his ideal. Several years ago he had
met a woman, and several times during
the progress of their acquaintance he
had imagined that he loved her. There
was in her flashes of intellect that he
admired there was the deep, under
ground swell of passion that he secretly
loved in a woman there were the little
loving ways of speech and name that
reminded him of his dead mother there
was the desire to be helpful that touched
him and the Griseldalike patience that
hurt him, for he felt his incompetence
to act as she would have had him act.
Yet there were moments-but she was
not beautiful-and he was an artist by
nature.
The train whirled on through the
meadows barer and browner. Caine
turned his tired eyes within. The crisp
pages of his magazine opened to a story,
Shadows" Yearly his eyes Travelled
yer its first page as they had travelled
ver the d%reariness of earth parched
landscape. He turned the second page
and a frown of perplexity knit the dark
brows. This description How it
brought back days of long ago.
Caine laid down the magazine. It
brought it all back-that time when al
most he loved a woman He read ON.
Twas a simple little story of love and
faith and the love and the faith belong
ed to the 'oman-is it not often sO2
The man all but loved a woman who
was poor and plain, who had naught to
attract but a heart full of sympathy
for humankind, full of longings for bet
ter things, full of an ungovernable
idolatrous worship for that which she
could not attain.
The man had left her, knowing she
loved him, successful, secure in his own
strength to i've his life alone-and the
woman loved on. How her heart was
laid bare in the storyl What fervor,
what passion, what longing were ex-
pressed! There was a prayer for the
loved one il every line-and the heart
break at the end
Good Cool" he thought. "Can only
a woman love after all2"
How weah were his own emotions be-
side this. What We're ideals2 Did not
this suffering of another for oneself put
away all thought of them?
What a faol, a blind fool, he had been
not to see that the woman was breaking
her heart fc him, dying slowly, cruelty
for the norrishment that only love,
with it's du es and cares, can bring.
A food OF pity swept over his soul
and tears crept into channels long I'M
used, What mattered Wall street, the
club, fashionable friends? He could
give them all up. Love such as this was
worth any sacrifice.
He buttoned the magazine into the
pocket of his ulster and reached for q
time table. AT 4 O'Clock they would
reach the junction. Then 500 miles
away was that woman-the woman who
loved him. His strong, evenly pulsed
life should calm the fever in her life
the story would have a different ending.
How the hours seemed to crawl from
this timel He caught himself counting
the telegraph poles to keep himself from
thinking. He must not turn back-not
leaving. Another N was before him,
in which there was only one figure. No
more careless freedom, no more silent
worship of his ideal woman-the shad-
ow wife of that future, 50 rosy and
bright, when his heart should waken
from its long slumber and know real
happiness. Duty should hereafter ever
rule.
A night and a day had passed before
he arrived at his destination. He sum
moned a carriage at the station and
drove rapidly to the beautiful suburb
where the woman lived. He could not
rest or sleep until that poor heart was
edSGu Oh lbS DuIu6Hs anu butu-du4 bLtu
and he shut his teeth hard-would he
rest them
With what a commingling of glad
ness, remorse, expectancy and fear he
mounted the terrace and stood at the
door of the cottage where she lived.
The evening sunlight was tuning the
waters of the lake into a sheen of glory
and touched the leaves of the fading
foliage into roseate beauty.
Toward the south the leaves screen
ing the lovers walk whispered softly