Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1899-1903, 1900-02-01

lines and write a story on human
face, have strangely different effect
OIL one face and another The face
that is only fair, even very fair. they
mar and flaw, but to the face whose
beauty is the harmony between that
which speaks from within and the
form through which it speaks power is
added by all that causes the outer man
to bear more deeply the impress of the
inner. The pretty woman fades with
the roses on her cheeks and the girl
hood that lasts an hour. The beautiful
woman finds her fullness of bloom
only when past has written itself on
her, and her power is then most ire
sistible when it seems going.
From under their half closed lids the
keen eyes looked down at her. Her
shoulders were bent. For moment
the little figure had forgotten its queen
ly bearing and dropped YEARLY. The
wide dark eyes watched the fire very
softly.
1t certainly was not in her power to
resist him nor any strength in her that
soft as he looked at her
He touched one little hand that rest
ed on her knee.
Poor little thingw he said "You
are only child
She did not draw her hand away
from his and looked up at him.
"You are very tired?"
YES"
She looked into his eyes as a little
child might whom long days play
had saddened.
He lifted her gently up and sat her
on his knee.
Poor little thing!' he said.
She turned her face to his shoulder
and buried it against his neck. He
wound his strong arm about her and
held her close to him. When she had
sat for long WHILE he drew with his
hand the face down and held it against
his arm. He kissed it and then put it
back in its old resting place.
Don't you want to talk to me?"
"No."
'Have you forgotten the night in the
avenue?'
He could feel that she shook her
head.
do you want to be quiet now?'
eyes,
They sat quite still, excepting that
only sometimes he raised her fingers
softly to his mouth.
Doss, who had been asleep in the
corner, waking suddenly, planted him
self before them, his swiry legs moving
nervously, his yellow eyes filled with
anxiety. He was not at all sure that
she was nor being retained in her press
ent position against her will and was
not a little relieved when she sat up
and held out her hand for the shawl.
II must co." she said.
The stranger wrapped the shawl very
carefully about her.
Keep it close around your face, Lyn-
dali. 1t is very damp outside. Shall
walk with YOU to the house,"
mo. Lie down and rest. will come
and wake you at 8 O'clock"
She lifted her face that he might kiss
it., and when he had kissed it once she
still held it that he might kiss it again.
Tken he let her out. He had seated
himself at the fireplace when she re-
opened the door.
Have you forgotten anything?"
.'No"
She gave one Tong. lingering look at
the old room. When she was gone and
the door shut, the stranger filed his
glass and sat at the table slipping it
thoughtfully.
The night outside was misty and
damp. The faint moonlight, trying to
force its way through the thick air, II
made darkly visible the outlines Of the
buildings. The stones and walls were
moist, and now and then a drop, slowly
collecting, fell from the caves to the
ground. Doss, not liking the change
from the cabins warmth, ran quickly
to the kitchen doorstep. but his mis-
tress walked slowly past him and took
her way up the winding footpath that
ran beside the stone wall of the camps.
When she came to the end of the last
camp. she threaded her way among the
stones and bushes till she reached the
Germans grave. Why she had come
there she hardly knew. She stood
looking down. Suddenly she bent and
put one hand on the face Of wet
stone.
81 shall never come to you again."
she said.
Then she knelt on the ground and
leaned her face upon the stones.
Dear old man, good OILS man. l am
so tired" she said, for we will come to
the dead to tell secrets we would never
have told to the living. II am SO tired!
There is light, there Is warmth" she
walled. "Why am l alone, SO hard. so
cold? am so weary Of myself! It's 8
eating my soul to its core-self, self,
self! cannot bear this life! l can
not breathe. 1 cannot live! Win moth
ing free me from myself| She pressed
her cheek against the wooden post. Il
want to love! want something great
and pure to lift me to itself! Dear old
man, cannot bear it any more! am
I ,,,1t