The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1899-08-01
THE UNSEEN SINGER.

I was alone in the little seaside town,
the soiace of work being denied me be-
cause of the illness that had brought
me there to seek health. l was des-
perately tired, and my nerves were in
a state that rendered all enjoyment
impossible.
l used to lie late in the mornings, for
| there was nothing to do but wander
idly on the promenade. and the trivial
pleasures of the crowd vexed me I'M
utterably because l could not share
them.
1t was only at night I realized that
possibly this irksome time of rest was
bringing me nearer to the recovery OF
my health. Then l used to wander
until all but the latest of the visitors
had left the promenade. 1t was inn
possible not to be at rest. The cool
ness of the night, the soothing murmuT
of the sea, and the shining yellow
| lights of a fishing village across the
bay, combined to make a perfect world
and as l watched l knew that even the
gairish day might presently give me
pleasure again.
I had been perhaps a fortnight in the
/ would tell you. 1t was only for a
moment, as she drove past in the com
pany of an older woman, but that mo-
ment's sight was enough to fill my
thoughts until l saw her again upon
the morrow.
She was beautiful beyond all words
I fancied she could hardly have passed
the age of 20; and speech and hearing
had been denied her. She had the
innocent gladness that remains while
they are yet young with some who are
thus afflicted. She looked upon the
world with beautiful eyes. and, in
spite of fate, was well pleased to be
alive.
But she was talking with her fin
gers to the elder lady, her companion
in whose eyes as they looked on the
girl l saw an infinite pity expressed.
That pity instantly invaded my own
heart, though it's object was gone out
of my sight within few seconds of her
appearance; and, despite the fact that
I knew not so much as her name, there
was mixed with the pity a sense of an
cry rebellion against the fates who had
thus afflicted her, wantonly robbing OF
its value a generosity that, through her
might otherwise have gladdened the
wide world.
Now, more than ever, 1 regretted my
loneliness for / had no one from whom
| night expect to gather any info, una
ton as to her identity nor was there
any hope of my gaining the privilege OF
her acquaintance. I made some futile
inquiries at tn hotel, and only got 50
far as to be almost certain she was,
like r,yself, visitor.
On the next day, at about the same
hour, the carriage passed along the
length of the promenade. She was still
;nnocently glad to be alive, content to
accept her burden as if it were no bur-
den at ALL it was with smiles she
looked into the plying eyes of her COM
panion, and could fancy that the mes
sages she was conveying with swiftly
moving fingers were humorous appre-
Citations of what she saw around her.
My earlier questions had been ad-
dressed to quaint, elderly waiter at
the hotel, man who had in some sort
made it his especial task to see to my
well being, and who was the nearest
approach to a friend I possessed with
in hundred miles of the place. 1t
happened that I was lunching at the
open window one day when the car
riage passed. little earlier than usual