Warren sheaf. [volume] (Warren, Marshall County, Minn.) 1880-current, 1902-09-25


the fluctuations of the woman as In
dictated by complexion, gait, express
sion and otherwise were numerous
and pronounced. Often she looked
brighter and more robust than on
the preceding Sunday. Her face
would be then rounded out, and the
dark crescents beneath her eyes
would be less marked. Then | found
myself elated.
But on the next Sunday the
cheeks had receded slightly, the
healthy luster of the eyes had given
way to- an ominous glow; the warn
ing of death had returned Their
my heart would sink. and, signing, !
would murmur inaudibly:
"This is one Of the bad SUNDAYS"
There came Il time when every
Sunday was Il bad one.
What made me love this woman ?
Simply the unmistakable complete-
ness and constancv of her devotion
to her husband, the absorption of
the woman in the wife. Had the
strange ways of chance ever made
known to her nv feeling and had
she swerved from that devotion
even to render ME back love for
love, then my own alteration for her
would surely have departed.
Yes, l loved her if to fill ones
life with thoughts of a woman, if
in fancy to see her face by day and
night, if to have the will to die for
her or to bear pain for her--if these
and many more things mean love.
Ny richest joy was to see her con-
tent with her husband, and the
darkest woe of my life was to antic-
ipate the termination Of their hap
plness.
So the Sundays passed. One aft
ernoon [ waited until almost dusk,
yet the couple did not appear.
For seven Sundays in succession
I did not meet them upon their
wonted walk.
On the eighth Sunday I saw the
dog first, then the man. The latter
was looking over the railing. The
woman was not with him. Appre-
hensively I sought with my eyes his
face. Much grief and loneliness
we're depicted there
Was he or [ the greater mourn
er, l wonder?
[ suppose two years passed after
that day ere [ again beheld the Wild
over, whose name [ do not and
probably never shall know, upon
the bridge. The dog was not with
him this time. It was a fine, sunny
afternoon in May. Grief was no
longer in his face. By his side was
a very pretty, animated, rosy little
woman whom [ had never seen be-
fore. They walked close to each
other, and she looked with the ut
most tenderness into his face. She
evidently was not yet entirely &C.
customed to the wedding ring which
I observed upon her finger.
I think that tears came to my
eyes at this sight. Those great
brown eyes, the plush sack, the love-
ly face that had borne the impress
of sorrow and so speedily had felt
death-these might never have ex-
listed so soon had they been forgot
ten by the one being in the world
for whom that face had worn the as
pect of a perfect love,
Yet one upon whom those eyes
never rested has remembered, and
surely the memory of her is mine
to wed, since ne whose right it was
to cherish it had allowed himself to
be divorced from it in so brief a
time.
The memory of her is with me al
ways, fills nv soul, beauties my
life, makes green and radiant this
existence which all who know me
think cold, bleak, empty, repellent.
You will not laugh, then, my
friend, when I tell you that love is
not to me thing unknown.
So runs a part of the last letter
to my father that the old bookkeep-