The Minneapolis journal., 1901-05-25

would be to hosalyhue tnat lhe hist neWS
would CO.
There was another letter, however, lying on
the table that very moment, which presently
Rreyten read. 1t was from the great Partisan
specialist 1t raa In substance thus:
Your friend, Mr. Alfred Rayle, who is
under treatment with me, begs me to say
to you that he is doing very we'll and Will be
perfectly cured at the end of two months
from this time. He particularly wishes you
to tell no one anything about MS condltlon-
Distance takes the reality out OF things Dy
hanging over them a mist OF vagueness.
Breyten had travelled enough to overcome the
Illusion, but yet he could not feel the imme-
dlate touch Of fact from what he had read.
He tried to imagine how Rayle would look
standing up firmly on two good, straight legs.
He even attempted to measure the rearranged
man with himself They would be different;
but he feared that Rayle might be the hand
somer. so dark, so magnetic, so finely and
massively regular in his features. He crum-
pied the Doctors letter impatiently.
Other surprises awaited him in the yet un-
opened missiyes on the table. small proto-
graph. taken from a portrait of his mother
painted by a celebrated artist fell out of an
enEeIop along with sheet OF dainty note
paper. on which he read:
Somehow l must have sent the wrong pict-
ure in my other note. Won't you please
return it to me az Old Point Comfort?
-ROSalyQQo BanQSfel.
After few moments given freely to dizzy
gazing at the signature as if it had been
Rosalynde herself, he neryously fingered the
remaining envelopes for my other note"
until he found it. His heart quigered, or
seemed to, and a tender sense Of weakness
crept through him when he drew forth an
other little photograph. Then his eyes dilated
6reamily; for there she was, Rosalynde. just
as he saw her under the bridge. He almost
forgot to read the accompanying note, so long
was he absorbed in gazing and remembering.
We are leaving for Old Point Comfort.
saw in the newspapers that you were to be
absent some time, so l ~inclose this photo
graph, which you told me was OF your
mother. You left it in book, and | ac-
The date opposite Miss Banderets signature
was more than three weeks in the past, and
he saw that the other note had been posted
at Washington city. But the photograph. al
though a triie worn, as if by much carrying
about and indifferent handling, was sufi-
ciently vivid to hold Breyten's eyes away
from everything else. He looked at it and
dreamed over it until far in the night. The
round, frank eyes, the sweet, immature
mouth, the softly oval cheeks, the lissome
form. were those. of a girl in her mid-teens
girl just blooming into what Rosalynde was
on the day of their meeting at the bridge. A
painter might have made much of Breyten' S
unconscious pose. The picture lay fat upon
the table almost between his elbows, while
with his hands in his hair clutching the
bright, short locks on either side of his big
head, he gazed and smiled and frowned and
chewed his mustache as though mad and
glad and perplexed, but; over all. despairing.
The last thought before he went to sleep
was that he would have copy of the photo
graph before he sent it back. Nor did con-
science seem to take cognizance of his pur-
pose, for early next morning he went
straightway and accomplished it without a
qualm; and, for fear something might go
wrong with the negative, he kept the original
until he had his finished copy, a remarkably
good one in hand.
By this time he was ready to write what
he regarded as a well-considered and thor
oughly dislnterested letter 10 Miss Banderet.
He was so fastidious about the composition,
indeed, that he was more than a week doing
it; but when at last it seemed just what it
ought to be, he mailed it with the tiny pic
ture carefully enclosed nor did he find out,
until too late, that, by some unaccountable
slip, he had sent the copy instead of the
original. Somehow the discovery touched him
accurately upon the spring that loosed the
Jocund spirit so natural to him, and he
laughed in his old bOyish. hearty way, hold
ing the picture before him and gazing at it
mirth proyokng, albeit the sweet, open look
of the girls eyes was bewitchingly serious.
1T is preposterous!" he presently thought.
Its outrageous! And what will she say
God bless her!'
He kissed the picture at least twenty times
before a wave of soberness checked him, and
| then he thought of RaTle.
XIV.
Now this is what Breyten wrote:
Dear Miss Banderet: Both of your notes
were on my table when l returned, nearly d
month after they were written. l read the
second one first; then / was in great hurry
to open the other and when did open it the
! inelosure surprised ard delighted me. The
| photograph shows you exactly as you looked
that day under the bridge. l see you before
me while / write your eyes gazing past me
with a vast sweet, ravishiIg indifference
! Precisely so does this little photograph which
! l so grudgingy vii. return to you in this
/ letter.
| l am of half a mind to keep this forlorr
possession of its original in my deepest
memory has proven my right to hold fast
/ the shadow. AS | probably shall never SEE
! you again, and knowing that you are not tC
| be troubled with what / may tell you about
yourself, / am going to say the whole truth
! The moment that l saw you at the bridge
| out yonder you took adeep hold Of my heart
1 | feel that l have loved you passionately
| every moment since We met. But since ]
| found out your engagement to Mr.. Rayle
| / have been trying TO reconcile myself t. the
| inevitable. | cannot do il: l can only stand
upon my honor; l can only say to myself
/ that you are beyond my reach-that l must
| not try to reach you. You love Rayle; he is
! a splendid fellow; he loves you; you TWO are
| engaged to be married; that is all. l am out
4 side and must stay there l see in the eyes
| of this picture that from the first you were
| sealed against me; you were reserved for
/ Rayle. 1t is hard on me; but then what q
1 =. .s-.Ix n I
/ go down, he goes up. What a weight it is
! that bears me down, and what a life of Joy
/ is his / ought not to wish or even dream
of shifting my burden to him.
In writing all this TO you l feel doubtful
and uneasy about my right to do it-not my
| right to love you, for somehow that seems
unquestionable and thing to die by The
trouble is Rayle. The man rushed into my
] sympathy and regard at our first meeting
! He seemed so earnest, so sincere, and SC
| brave under great disadvantages. and i;
seemed to me that you must have given him
! his courage.
When / returned and found that you were
gone, my first impulse was to follow you
! TO keep you in sight, to linger near you
/ But what right have |, / thought. to &c
where she s? So l, am not going to follow
you; 1 am going as far from you as l can
not to try to forget you'll can never do thai
but to be sure that you shall not suffer on
4 my account
Just now, when looked UP from this writ.
| ing to your picture, the face seemed to smile
upon some one far off, past me. And then
suddenly was under the bridge, and the storm
was on, and your arms went around me tight
tight so that l felt a great, sweet joy tingle
all through me. ! can write this frankly
because ! am never to see you again, and
because your love for Rayle will prevent
| everything that else might come of such q
confession; but 1t seems unnatural, some
how. that you should have loved any man but
me. and tell you now that l shah never fee
/ differently about II, no matter what Games
Doubtlegs am seeming very foIish to voiI