Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1900-04-26
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BY JOSEPHINE A. BOWEN.

60 on with my landscape from the mo-
ment that she left. | called myself an
idiot and tried to shake myself into rea-
son and common sense, but it was OF
no use. The sweet, pathetic little face
haunted me, and l was in fever ofim.
patience to see her again.
Well, about noon of the next day she
came, as before, with her dog by her
side. 1t was more like a dream than
reality, she was so little like other girls.
Y am glad that You have come l
SAID, quietly, and am going to ask you
to unbraid your hair and let it fall over
your shoulders; will your
Without reply she united the ribbon,
slowly uubraided and shook loose her
wonderful hair. 1t fell around her like
shadowy mist, and so ethereallzed her
that began to doubt whether she were
a mere human child, or the victim of
a hallucination.
l began to outline my picture, but
decided; as much as love a good dog
to leave hers out and make an after
study of him to please his little mistress
for | wanted that face, with its pensive
lips and wonderful veil of hair, to be
what 1t has since become-a mountain
dream.
She came day after day, always glid-
ing in and loosenlng her hair without
further request from me; and she glided
silently into my heart.
In ten days time knew that loved
her better than my own life; that /
would protect and defend her with my
last drop Of blood.
We had talked but little all this time.
had asked her if she was missed at
home, and she said that her father was
away and Manella had some Mexicans
visiting her, and l think they are glad
to have me away she said, but they
quarrel terribly, and although | can't
understand all they say think they are
talking about me-
Here was danger. What step should
| take? Should ask this child to fly
! with me? Never! Better death for both
of us than dishonor for her.
Should | go to this nest of Mexican
cutthroats and boldly declare myself hel
lover, claiming the right to protect her
and trust to fate? Most likely the result
of such a step would be death for me
and worse than death for her. No,
must take care of myself for her sake
70 60 to her father was impossible. He
was a fugitive from Justce-perhapS
swinging from some impromptu galows
in gorge or canyon. | had no friends ir
all the great northwest to aid me.
must act alone-but how?
The picture was nearly finished. YOU
haye seen it, JIM the sweet pathos O.
the face, the mystic eyes, the cloud o.
shadowy hair, the form half yelled il
mist, the background faint vision o.
the mountains. | was satisfied. 1t mus
have been an inspiration; it was the
inspiration Of loye--for to save my NOR
tai soul | could no more paint such &
picture now than | could bring the dead
to life. She looked upon it as a miracle
and upon me as the followers of Christ
may have looked upon Him.
All this time no word of love had
passed my lips. l must see my way
clearly before | spoke, and | waited and
pondered. Did it ever occur to me that
she might be followed and watched?
Yes, I had thought Of that, but this
cabin, as you may have observed, COM
mands view of miles. l had watched
her going and coming after the first
few days.
l could see the little figure far away
as it advanced in coming or faded in the
distance when she departed, and always
she seemed unmolested-and with hel
faithful guardian by her side trusted
that she was safe.
That smoke gets into my eyes, jim
What do you say? Tears? Well, | an
not ashamed of them. Perhaps you
would not have fallen in love with an
outlaws daughter, but | did.
loved her so that no other woman
will ever have any charm for me. How
ever, | determined to say no word of my
feelings toward her until | could by
some means place her in safety.
1t was while my mind was in this
state of love and anxiety that finished
her picture. She looks at you from the
canvas just as she lookad at me, mourn
ful and tender as a wounded dove.