The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1901-04-07

4 sheet of paper followed the pencil,
and Davis chung to the brass railing his
ears strained 20 catch every exquisitely
shaded tone.
The tenor was singing now:
When thou hadst overcome the sharp
ness Of death.
Aye, the sharpness of death, Like
white irons those words struck into the
soul of Davis. The sharpness of
death" Had he not felt it-once:
The entire choir caught up the tri-
uDDhant refrain:
! Thou didst open the kingdom of heaven
to all believers.
Higher and higher rose the mighty
wave of song till it seemed to sweep
through the vaulted ceiling. but Davis.
with hands tightly clenched saw ONLY
the contralto who. with head upIifted.
poured forth her soul in melody.
Again the clergy intoned and the choir
chanted, the people knelt in prayer and
the preached pleaded. But Davis neither
saw nor heard. Sentences, fire laden
and relentless, We're forming in his
mind The art of the critic was lost in
the passion of the man. And on the
morrow his paper should have a story
of which this self-satisfied congrega-
ton little dreamedf Yet he was think
ing not OF the sensation coup IN store
for his chief, but only of the terrible
journey he had once made toward the
setting sun. Again he saw the gaunt
form of his elder brother. the protector
and idol of his boyhood. stretched upon
the wretched bed in that neglected
ranch house. Again he saw the bottles
the bottles scattered on every side
Of the wretched bed. Then he looked
once more at the woman in the choir
whose gift of song was Turing those
around him to a sense of heavenly
peace. His arms were folded across his
chest, his fingers digging into the cloth
Of his coat.
He is risen: he is not here.
Why had such a gift been granted to
woman. who, under cover of night
could steal from her husbands home
and love? Why had the features of
madonna and the voice of an angel
been bestowed on one whose feet were
of clay2 A thousand devils dashed him
on. He must get TO his rooms and pen
the fierce words. Yes. ne should cast
the first stone at this Magdalen with
the sanity face. There would be
new contraltO in the choir of St. Agnes
next Sunday. The sharpness Of
DEATH" Yes. yes. she should feel it,
Torn by the bitter memory of that
scene in the far west Davis did not see
a small figure steal from the ranks of
, the chorus maSsed behind the Soloist.
4 little child, brave in scarlet cap ard
Jacket crept closer and closer to the
singer. Silently, breathlessly, he slipped
forward, even as on that other day his
mother had crept round the rough
ranch house, drawn by a clear. COM
polling melody. But the hands of the
boy were not outstretched, and in his
tightly clasped fingers lay an Easter
lily. crushed and broken.
The child stood at the womanS side.
Davis started, and the color rushed into
his face. The blood bounded from his
head with a mighty throb For the
face uplifted to meet the glorious har-
mony of sound was the face of his
brother in miniature But the soul be-
hind the quiveriag lips and the moist
eyes was the soul of the woman The
last sweet, comforting note died away
into intense silence, and a great sigh
rose from the listening people. And the
child still gazed into his mothers face
with the enraptured faith of innocent
childhood. This mute alteration of
motherhood swept through the soul. of
Davis like a. cleansing fire His face
softened, and when the people rose for
the blessing of the aims his eyes rested
tenderly on the face of the boy
The last singer had departed when
Davis sought the choir loft. The di-
rector turned to l9ok for his hat and
Davis crossed quickly to the brass
railing where mother and child had
knelt together He picked up bruised
lily and gently laid It away in his card
case Then, facing the musician, he
said quietly: !.
Fine music you gave US this morn
ing Mr.. Gale. By the way, your con-