Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1899-02-16

that might turn and twist in one flesh
forever, yet never cause mortal
wound only an infnitude of pain.
But that Of yesterday was the broad
blade that kills at one stroke
And again, as it broaeened and
deepened and faded, like a nloonbeam,
away 'sThat of yesterday. he muir
INJURED, twas renunciation 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 is the end, an end
that has no end.
But as ne lay there, hands elasped be-
hind his tired head, lips parted in a
smile-a smile unlike his, for it had
naught of scorn in it-there bvoke upon
the silence the opening bars of little
prelude dainty and sweet in itself, but
the manner of its playing a veritable
triumph in mediocrity. 1t walled and
cried laboriously above the Poet head
and echoed about the window It broke
into painful snatches and Indifferent
rhythm.
The Poet sprang to his feet with an
exclamation of impatience. ITO spoil
that with this he cried. "Oh, how
can shel' He bit his lips wrathfully,
but he did not intend to have his dream
altogether spoiled and, his anger con
quering his WEAKNESS, he ran lightly up
the narrow stair
He burst into the room of the stranger
without preface or prelude, and began
in high pitched, womanish voice.
'sWhat in the world - Then he
paused, for he found she was crying. A
little, middle aged woman, with a
wrinkled face and funny elfin locks that
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,
too, that he had imagined her to be
young.
s'Whst an abominable row r he said
savagely. And what are You crying
about? But it is enough to make any
one cryp' He was not far from tears
himself with vexation.
She looked up at him wistfully she
was but little thing and without
any apparent surprise at his presence
or abrupt entrance. "Ah / should not
have played again. she sobbed, latter
after l had given it up.
Then l had guessed aright!" cried
the Poet Yesterday it was renuncia-
tion and today resignation. But what
had you given up? What have you re
nounced? To what are you resigned y
81 don't understand you, she said
uncomprehendingly. She laid her violin
ON the table, hanging over it as a moth
er does over her child.
s'When you played yesterday -
but didn't play yesterday, she
cried. 81 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. caught the sob
bing of the sea god on the end of my
bow. sent out the cry of the gulls -
'And the spray of theseaf' cried the
Poet,
'.And the eddy and gathering of the
foam" -
And the mutter of the waves.
''And / thought of how might have
played had not something something
been wanting. Oh. l cried to God to
give me the power to play as-as my
soul could play but for this thing this
me that cannot.
The cry for the unattainable, the
Poet whispered to himself, but she did
not hear or heed him.
81 made a resolution. +" She dried her
tears briefly at the recollection of it.
''God would not give me my desire, SC
L gave VI lily n6IuUlduIS VI II, lUI i
wanted to keep my ideal. Then, when
had quite made up my mind, how
could have played then! But it would
not come.
1.-The triumph, said the Poet. He
smiled imperceptibly to himself
But today it was all 50 dreary Il
was all over, and there was nothing
left. And after had thought how it
was all over and my last note played ]
thought I would again say goodby tc
my fiddle. And I fetched it out and
played goodby, but without making a
sound. And | felt not bit sorry, but
only strange feeling here. She put
her hand on her heart. $50 played 8
real little bit to see if it would take ii
away
He did not speak His dream had
come back to him. and his thoughts,
like white clouds. foated far, far away.
Black and White