The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1900-09-04
AN INHERITANCE.
BY Charlotte Teller.

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 suffered p
The reader lost his place and said with
some amusement: where were your
thoughts? Don't you realize that the
heroine is just enjoying psychological
moment?"
I'm not at all interested in the hero
inc; besides, she's morbid 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 u suspicion Of sarcasm in
his voice.
81 beg your pardon" she said, letting
her eyes follow the steward with the aft
ernoon coffee. "I'm not probing for se-
crets. II we're, should be more skill
full"
lie leaned over III udlI NpolOey.-
II am not vain enough to think that
you have more than a literary interest
in the lines of my face. You are psy-
Geological vivisectionist, purely scientific,
with only a trace of sympathy for the
case in hand. But do not look always for
suffering. There ISL 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 conversa-
\ ton.
.,rhe dend black Of that woman's hair
against orange"-he pointed to a woman
below them, dipping her black bread into
a mug of tea-swouldn't that be effective
in pastel?"
"Rut you couldn't get those eyes,
should do the whole figure in clay, letting
4 the tragedy come out in the pose Of the
head and in the lines of the hands"
She spoke meditatively, without asser-
4 ton.
That's good" he answered, but you
| would need bit of horizon, or at least
with the impatience of man who leaves
tragedy to novelists-"that you invaria-5
bly, see the pathetic side Of everything q
She was puzzled again by the line in
his lower lip Was it hardness or repres-
sion?
"Can you see anything but tragedy
1 down there? Look at that old woman
reading her Talmud and wiping her
4 tears on that dingy apron; and that wom-s
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 us leave them; they're hap
by. If they are homesick. that is senti-
mentality. for they have the waters I'M
Z der them and the sky overhead. II it
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
f 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 swinging gait and she putting her
, heels down first They We're both quiet.
only nodding to the others who walked
round and round the deck. She felt
strangely oppressed. After few mos
ments he stopped beside their chairs.
'.The band plays the, Sunday service
about this time on the other SIDE" he
y 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.
e She watched the tired look in his eyes
;, fade out.
: Then the chords of a German choral
sounded out into the glare of sunlight;
e they seemed to push the brightness aside
and to call the darkness to arise from the
depths of the sea. The girl closed her
d eyes moment to bring the sound nearer.
When she opened them, about to ask the
:, name of the choral, the mans eyes, full
y fixed on the distant line of sky, kept heI
still; they were filed with an awful
dread, with repressed wildness Of fear
o and they had drawn all the color from his
face until it had become dead white.
As the music came to it's somber close
l. he turned toward her, and she bent ovel
t. and touched his hand.
! II am sorry, p She could not say
more, and the voice reused him.
sr II am afraid now that you will thinl
you have discovered tragedy in me-"
His voice was low, and it's tones press
al ed back the tears in her heart Her hand
: lying on his, grew cold, and he put hi
u other one over it.
"Child, you are making it little hard
er for me, and yet am glad" A mis-
10 was sweeping between them, and he lean
At ed forward. IT have just come from
physician who has told me that in a few
months my mind will go out into tn
TX great darkness. My father, and his 70
Their before him, became insane, but
had had such faith in my own strength
re And cannot escaped!
For a moment she was still; then sh
freed her hand from his and drew hi
or head down to her shoulder
70 Miles around there was the twitchin
:, of blue waves under white mist vel
u and all that lived-all that was human
was dimmed and softened-C Chicago Trit
une.
nd The Absentminded Man.
An absentminded minister Of Mana
yunk, Pa, tells this story on himself: g
ed live in one of a row of brick houses tina