Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1900-08-08
AN INHERITANCE.
BY Charlotte Teller.


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His steamer chair was drawn up close
and facing hers, and he was reading
aloud. She watched the play Of lines
about his mouth and studied his brow
and nose. Suddenly she sat up, pushing
back the red hood Of her cape. do you
know" she broke in, mo one Is really in
teresting unless he has sufferedT'
The reader lost his place and said with
some amusement: Where were your
thoughts? Don't you realize that the
heroine is just enjoying a psychological
momentT'
I'm not at all interested In the hero
inc; besides, she's morbid. l am much
interested in you''-she pulled her cape
| about her and leaned back-"but can't
interpret the lines in your face at all"
THAT'S strange" he laughed. Three
days out from Cherbourg and still mystic
rious. Do you always probe for secrets
so quickly?"
There was q suspicion OF sarcasm in
his voice.
II beg your pardon" she said, letting
her eyes follow the steward with the aft
ernoon coffee. I'm not probing for Sc
crets. II were, should be more skill
! full
He leaned over In half apology.
Il am not vain enough to think that
you have more than q literary interest
In the lines Of my face. You are a psy-
Geological vivisectionist, purely scientific,
with only trace Of sympathy for the
case in hand. But do not look always for
suffering. There is little Of it In the
world. Men are fools when they say
they suffer-"
The tone of hardness In his voice
reused her TO contradiction, but the look
in his eyes kept her words back. Instead
of speaking she threw off her rug and
| walked to the side Of the deck, looking
down ON the steerage. He joined her in
apparent forgetfulness of their CONVERSE
ton.
"The dead black of that woman's hair
against orange"--he pointed to a woman
below them. dipping her black bread into
! mug of tea-"wouldnt that be effective
in pastei!'
But you couldn't get those eyes. l
should do the whole figure in clay, letting
the tragedy come out In the pose Of the
head and in the lines of the hands,"
She spoke meditatively. without asser-
ton.
J nat y Eooti. ne answered., put you
would need bit of horizon. or at least a
deck rail. Aud why is the turned
with the impotence of man who leaves
tragedy to novelists-"that you invaria-
bly, see the pathetic side of everything?"
She was puzzled again by the line in
his lower lip. Was it hardness or repres-
sion?
Can you see anything but tragedy
down there? Look at that old woman
reading her Talmud and wiping her
tears on that dingy apron; and that wom-
an with the sick baby-she must have
been pretty once-and all of them. How
terribly homesick they must be-
The man shrugged his shoulders.
Come. let lis leave them; they're hap
by. II they are homesiek, that is senti-
mentality. for they have the waters I'M
der them and the sky overhead. II 1t
were all black emptiness. then He
stopped, and then said, more gently:
Don't you want to walk? You ought
not even to think of the troubles of the
world"
As they turned the wind blew back her
cape. and the red of it blotted the gray Of
his coat They paced back and forth, he
with a swinging gait and she putting her
heels down first. They were both quiet,
only nodding to the others who walked
round and round the deck. She felt
strangely oppressed. After a few mo-
ments he stopped beside their chairs
THE band plays the Sunday service
about this time on the other side" he
said. "and we'd better sit down before
some one else gets these places"
He covered her with rug and leaned
back, with his eyes on the far horizon.
She watched the tired look in his eyes
fade out.
Thea the chords of a German choral
sounded ont into the glare of sunlight;
they seemed to push the brightness aside
and to call the darkness to arise from the
depths of the sea. The girl closed her
eyes moment to bring the sound nearer.
When she opened them, about to ask the
name of the choral. the mans eyes, full
fixed on the distant line of sky. kept her
still; they were filed with an awful
dread, with a repressed wildness of fear.
and they had drawn all the color from his
face until it had become a dead white.
AS the music came to its somber close
he turned toward her, and she bent over
and touched his hand.
II am sorry, T. She could not say
more. and the voice reused him.
II am afraid now that you will think
you have discovered tragedy in me-"
His voice was low, and it's tones press
ed back the tears in her heart. Her hand,
lying on his, grew cold, and he put his
sther one over 1t.
Child, you are making it little hard
or for me, and yet l am glad" A mist
was sweeping between them, and he lean
ed forward. Il have just come from
physician who has told me that in a few
months my mind will go out into the
great darkness. My father, and his ia
Their before him, became insane, but l
had had such faith in my own strength!
And cannot escaped!
For a moment she was still; then she
freed her hand from his and drew his
head down to her shoulder.
Miles around there was the twitching
Of blue waves under a white mist veil,
oil fhnt liral-nu that w hnman--