Barton County democrat. [volume] (Great Bend, Kan.) 1885-1915, 1899-03-17

-
that might turn and twist in one'sfiesh
forever, yet never cause mortal wound
only an infinitude of pain But that
of yesterday was the broad blade that
kills at one stroke.
And again-as 1T broadened and deep
| enedx and faded, like a moonbeam,
away-Athat of yesterday" he muir
INJURED, twas renunciation; with its bat
tie, its victory its sublime triumph.
| its transient peace; to-day's is resig-
nation; sub1nittanc which hasnaught
of battle, of victory, of triumph, but
only pain. To-day's is the end. an end
| that has no end"
But as he lay there, hands clasped
behind his tired head, lips parted in
a smile-a smile unlike his, for ii had
/ naue4rt of scorn in it-there broke upon
| the silence the opening bars Of a little
| prelude, dainty and sweet in itself. but
the manner of it's playing a veritable
| triumph in mediocrity. 1t walled and
cried laboriously above the Poets head,
| and echoed bove the window 1t broke
| into painful sna tches and Indifferent
| rhy thm.
The Poet sprang to his feet with an
| exclamation of Impotence. ITO spoil
| that with thisi" he cried. so. how can
( she? He bit his lips wrathfully; but
! he did not intend to have his dream
altogether spoiled, and, his anger con-
| quering his weariness, ran lightly up
| the narrow stair.
! He burst into the room of the stran-
ger without preface or prelude, and, be-
| gan, 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 wrinkled
| face, and funny elfin locks that fell in
a cloud about it. She was standing in
| the middle of the room, with her music
| stretched out fatty on the table, and
| her violin and bow in her hands; stand
| ing, the'tears running thickly down her
| pale cheeks, without making any at
| tempt 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.
| too, that he had imagined her to be
young.
"What an abominable row." he said,
| savagely. "And what are you crying
| about? But it is enough to make any
one cry!" He was not far from tears
| himself with yeXation.
She looked up at him wistfully-she
was but a little thing-and without any
| apparent surprise at his presence or alb
| rupt entrance. "Ah! should not have
| played again." she sobbed, "after-aft-
er I had given it up"
"Then I had guessed aright!" cried
| the Poet. Yesterday it was renun-
citation, and to-day resignation. But
what had you given up? What have
| you renowned? To what are you re-
signed ?"
81 don't understand you," she said.
uncomprehendingly She laid her vio-
lin on the table, hanging over it as a
mother does over her child.
| when you played yesterday"
but didn't play yesterday" she
cried. Il wanted too, SO badly! The
storm cried to me; the wind cried; and
the sea cried; and I heard them ALL. ]
took my violin in my hand, but I could
tell nothing of what hearfd. o, how
unhappy I was! Then 1 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; I 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!"
".And L thought of how might have
played had not something, some thing
been wanting. o, cried to God to give
me the power to play as-aS my sou
could play, but for this thing-this mt
that cannot"
'sThe cry for the unattainable." the
Poet whispered to himself, but she die
not hear or heed him.
81 made a resolution" She dried heI
tears briefly at the recollection of it
GOD would not give me my desire, sc
I gave up my semblance of it, for
wanted to keep my ideal. Then, when
had quite made up my mind, how
could have played theni But it would
not come"
1.-THE triumph" said the Poet. 81.
smiled imperceptibly to himself
'But to-day it was all so dreary. Z
was all over, and there was nothin G left
And afteTI had thought how it was al
over and my last note played, 1 though
: I would again say good-by to my fiddle
And I fetched it out and played good
by, but without making a sound. AND
I felt not bit sorry, but only a strange
: feeling here" she put her hand on hel
heart. $50 played a real little bit t.
| see if it would take it away"
!. He did not speak. His dream hat
come back to him; and his thoughts
like white clouds, hoated far, far away
-@But I am going away tomorrow,
she said, with white lips, but firmly
"and I will never play again. Will yol