The age-herald., 1900-04-08
.Mu Correspondent.
AN EASTER STORY.
AseSS6ef66f666a666es6esseeeA

"I cannot Write Tor you any more, Sald a letter from one of my most esteemed
 correspondents and friends. "The soul of my life has fled. Only the gaunt skeleton
 of existence remains to me. There Is no more poetry, no more art no more inspira- ton for me. My little Daisy is dead"
 knew it was impossible that such feel ings should be lasting. But change of seene-of association--was very necessary to Aurelia My next letter contained a pressing invitation for her to spend the winter with me. At first she resolutely de- clined, but when I made a journey to her home on purpose to bring her back with me, Aurelia yielded impassively and suf- fered herself to be brought away. I anticipated a double pleasure in pre- senting Aurelia Desmond to my friends. She was Q poetess of the rare, simple type, and determined to veil her with a halo of mystery.
 Awelia had been an orphan from infan- cy. Her mother had been of Quaker pa- rentage. By Aurefta's marriage with one of the worlds people she had forfeited the religious sympathy of the congregation.
 It was partly for her own benefit that I determined to conceal her history from her new acquaintanees, since the purpose of her visit would, doubtless, be the more effectually gained if I could be spared all those condolences and expressions of sym l pathy which the knowledge of her desolate | condition would naturally call forth. She was introduced to my friends only 1 as Miss Desmond.
 She certainly attracted as much attention as I could have desired, for the charm of | her beauty and intelligence made her every where an object of interest. | But she herself was little affected by that attention.
 "Aurelia," said, one bright winter morn- ing, "let us go downtown. A friend of ! mine has just finished a beautiful pictures; at least, he considers 1t his masterpiece, and invites my inspection. It will be pleasure to you to accompany me, am sure"
 "Yes," she replied, simply; "I like pie lures. I hope it is landscape with fine trees mellow distance, and a blue thread of river crossing the foreground. I shall see then if he has clothed his tones with the right kind of moss, and tinted the panels of his blossoms correctly" It was the first time I mad known her to show so much interest. was encour- aged. I watched her as sine deliberately completed her toilet arranged the rich sable furs, draw on the delicate gloves, took up the falntly perfumed handkerchief and the pretty huff, and said quietly:
 Now I am ready"
 Ut was very thoughtful in thee" she said, as We walked down town-using her pretty Quaker speech, as she sometimes did in confidential moments-"to screen me from comment and inquiry by withholding my story from thy friends. Sometimes, in- deed, I feel that I ann leading myself to deception but dost not thou think it an innocent one?'
 Certainly" I replied. "I think 1t per- fectly justhfiabe under the circumstances"
 And yet have thought that, if it were discovered, it night lend an unpleasant seeming n conduct fhol thiD1< there Is danger?"
 We had reached the studio and were en- terlng. It was a quaint-looking place, diff fering little from others of its kind, except in the air of comfort of "at-homeness," if we may coin such an expression. At this moment my friend Raymond was en- gagged, so we amused ourselves, for a time, with the paintings hung on the walls and some half-fnisg1ed sketches.
 Yet, while thus entertaining Aurelia, I was not so much admring the pictures as studying, by side gances, the strange lady with whom Raymond was talking She was very striking person, and the in- huence by which my eyes seemed perpetu- ally to turn to her. from whatever station l assumed, reminded me of the ancient arts of fascination and Witchery, and I wonder ed If she eXerted the same power over Raymond, who was stopping over the chair in which she sat to catch her mlrmured tones. Hardly-Raymond was a man of many experiences and much penetration.
 Uinally she rose. shook out her dainty founces with silken touch, all the while that her full, expressive eyes were turned upon Raymond, and giving him her hand in a warm, impressive manner that was full of art made her adieus and sailed slowly down the room.
 As she passed I noticed that her eye fell upon Aurelia. There was quick and, 1t seemed to me, malignant glance of recog- milton, a slight and naughty stoop of the proud form, and she passed on with an added touch In her manner I looked at Aurelia; her usually pale face was over spread with faint flush and her breath seemed to come and go between her parted lips in pants like that of frightened deer Raymond was approaching, however, and touched her arm to recall her to self command.
 Raymond led us at once to the center of the room, where, in the full light of a sky window. stood an easel covered with cloth. The covering was carefully drawn aside and the next moment there was re- vealed to us simply the head of little girl of three years. It was exquisite in outline and ooloring, and the expression was life like, thoughtful, serious, tender, almost be- yond words, vet child-like wfthal. In her hand she held an Easter lily As I turned Ito Aurelia to ask her opinion, I saw that her eyes were suffused with tears, and in another instant heard her softly murmur- ing:
 My child, my child"
 Raymond was gazing upon her with a deep penetrating gaze. I saw at once that our little ruse was. with him at least, blown to the winds
 "Am I mistaken" he asked of me in a whisper, as Aurela's preoccupation shield ed her from inquiry, Tor is this Mrs. Des- mond, the widow of my old friend Harry"
 But Aurelia's quick ear caught the sound. She blushed crimson, and extending her hand with the artlessness of child, ex- claimed. ..f
 'You knew my husband? An, then you will be the friend of his wife and refrain from exposing her to the sharp comments of the world. No one knows my history here but Mrs. Earl"
 Raymond readily assured her of his dis erection, and thinking to divert her atten- tion from the embarrassing question, ask ed her opinion of the picture.
 "It is perfect. So like my own little Daisy, too. An, MT. Raymond, I should thought only mothers heart could have nourished such an inspiration.
 Raymond blushed at the rather embar- ra ssing compliment.