Connecticut western news., 1899-07-06
ONLY A STORY.

tion, and train puffed forth great bill lows of black smoke into the white heat ed air. A group of hstless, lounging farmers was outlined against the un- 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 browned before the having time. Caine Denton took off his jaunty straw hat and leaned from the window. His quick eye took note of the expres- sionless faces of the loungers and their attitude of hopelessness. "Poor devils I" he murmured to himself Wonder what they have to live for anywayp The keen eye moved on past the un- 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 shy smile, quickly suppressed by the insertion of two little brown fingers between the red lips. ''The only bit of brightness in the land scape, he thought, and as the train moved laboriously forward, land now that is gone, and he leaned back in his seat wearily.
 U1 would say-and really they are the judges the world most honors-the breadth of his shoulders and the depth of his chest making one forget that he was little short in stature. Perfectly formed, with the muscles of gladiator, he was delight to the eye. Then his face, clear cut, with high, noble fore head crowned with soft, wavy, brown hair, the firm, square chin, the keen under straight dark brows, was remark ably pleasing. One studying it would say, "He is fnancier, practical, finn born to success, but in the mouth there was a contradiction of this-a certain full tipped tenderness which in dicated 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 happiness No, the world would say. Wealth, sta tion, hosts of friends, were his Yes, and love. All children loved him and many women. He had sown good seed and brought many 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 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 manner 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 story, Shadows. Wearily his eyes travelled over its first page as they had travelled over the dreariness of earth parched landscape. He turned the second page and 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 simple little story of love and faith and the love and the faith belong ed to the woman-is it not often sof The man all but loved woman who was poor and plain, who had naught to attract but heart full of sympathy for humankind. full of longings for bet ter things, full of an ungovernable idolatrous worship for that which she sould not attain.
 The man had left her, knowing she loved him, successful, secure in his own strength to live his life alone-and the woman loved on. How her heart was laid bare in the story What fervor, what passion, what longing were ex- pressed'l There was prayer for the loved one in every line-and the heart break at the end
 "Good Godl" he thought "Can only woman love after allf'
 How weak were his own emotions be- side this. What were idealsH Did not this suffering of another for oneself put away all thought of themf
 What fool, blind fool, he had been not to see that the woman was breaking her heart for him, dying slowly, cruelty for the nourishment that only love, with it's duties and cares, can bring.
 : A flood of pity swept over his soul and tears crept into channels long un- used. What mattered Wall street, the club, fashionable friendsf 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 time table. At 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 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 pyn in oh fn ha hn xyaa leaving Another one 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, so rosy and bright, when his heart should waken from its long slumber and know real happiness. Duty should hereafter ever rule.
 A night and day had passed before he arrived at his destination He sum-