The true northerner., 1899-08-02
THE DAFF0DILS."

lOuglngS ana nau enueaNOreu TO make
the bare, cheerless rooms a little more
homelike, but though the photographs
were scattered about. his piperack
nailed over the mantel shelf, surmount-
ed by a neat and effective border Of
unpaid bills, sundry writs, and County
Court notices. he was yet unsatisfied
with the general effect
OF course, there was a vast differ
ence between the luxurious quarters
in Murray Hill which he had just va
Gated and these small. sitting rooms,
with their cheap horsehair furniture,
but he was somewhat of a philosopher
and his motto was TO go with the tide.
This time. however, the current had
been too strong. and he found himself
at last stranded with n beggarly allow
ance of "A thousand year, the last
remnant of the handsome fortune that
had once been his.
The fault was entirely his own. He
frankly admitted it, though most men
would have laid the blame on the wo-
man who was the primary cause of it
He also had been to blame. She was
poor, and he made love to her under
false colors-had led her 70 believe he
was poor government clerk at sal
airy of 500 a year. His object at
first had been purely for his own
amusement, but she was not he kind
of woman fitted TO be mans play
thing, and the game had ended in
deadly earnest.
Therefore. ii was with some trepida-
tion that he had written confessing
that which he had concealed from her,
and asking her to marry him. .4e was
scarcely prepared, however, for the
curt reply that came: II am going
away to-day. Good bye"
Mechanically he opened the drawer
of the writing table by which he stood.
1t was full of papers and little wo-
manly trifles, evidently the property
of the former occupant of the room.
Unconsciously he commenced to read
the paper in his hand-the writing was
blurred and irregular, as though writ
ten by some one In ill-health:
why do / think of you to-day? 1t
seems as though you must be near. or
is it because ii is springtime, and my
room is full of yellow daffodils? | am
writing a letter TO you, one that you
will never receive-for all l know you
may be dead or-even married. 1t
does not seem so long since we met,
though | know ii is years ago. | won
der if you would be glad to know that
to-day | am thinking Of yOu--that out
of the desolate gray comes a vague,
sweet dream that brings you near TO
me. Tomorrow il will be winter
again--winter in my heart-alnd | shall
tear up this letter; but to-day the
dreariness has faded. There is no touch
Of scorn to freeze my heart. no kisses
cold as death TO chill my lips-no ST.
lence that aches round me with its
worldless pain. | hear the
whisper of spring that breathes Of
hope. / feel the touch of clinging
hands--your hair against my cheek
whom / might not know were | to
meet you now-do you doubt my love.
that you let me go out Of your life
without, a word or sign that you
cared"
Here the writing terminated alb
ruptly The reader stood as in
dream, staring straight before him in
to the dingy street Her handwrit-
ing! 1t was as though a ghost had
risen to confront him.
A knock at, the door aroused him
from his stupor, and the landlady
hustled in with the tea tray her
quick eyes caught sight of the open
drawer. Good laws, | meant to clear
that out, sir!'' she exclaimed. but the
poor young lady being taken away so
suddenly like, clean drove 1t out of
my head"
Isis she deadY' he faltered. A
deadly fear had taken possession Of
him. his face paled to an ashen hue
"Lor' no, leastaways not yet" said
the good woman, cheerfully. "I went
to see her last week at the orspital,
but the doctors don't give any hope Of
her gettin' better"
AS she spoke she swept the contents
OF the drawer into her apron, and his
hand closed convulsively on the letter
he held
(Which hospital was she taken top
he asked, steadying his voice with
an effort.
"The one just round In the square,
sir" answered the woman. Then, in
hurried apology: you'll be wantin'
your tea, sir; you look tired"
AS the door closed on her portly
form he dropped his head in his
hands. Good Godv' he groaned, "a
whole week has passed; she may be
deadv'
1t was visiting day at the hospital,
the ward was bright with spring
flowers, and brighter faces lit up by
that pathetic, wistful expectancy
characteristic Of the sick. There was
an eager hum of voices, too, hushed
occasionally by an admonishing word
from the nurse in charge. In the
same ward, rallied off by n curtained
screen from the other patients, girl
lay asleep. No visitor ever came for
her save the doctor, and sometimes
this woman where she had once lodg-