Tazewell Republican. [volume] (Tazewell, Va.) 1892-1919, 1902-12-04
HLOveWereA All
By ANNA CoSULIcK.

1 J SLOWLY 1AIO IhS AlC NhSAC Wv WV
red Goals were being driven apart by
the hungry yellow fame. The slave OF
Ambition-to waver when she called!
Perhaps they had been right to call
him that, until the woman came. But
now! Lydia had passed far across his
hearts threshold, and it was for him
TO decide whether Lydia or Ambition
had entered farther.
Last year, it should have come last
year, he impatiently reflected. Then
he would have been ready to go, and
glad. He would have gone with Drahl-
gen, aye, with the evil one himself,
almost, that he might see and learn
the things which nature has to teach
to the men who dare.
This offer to be one Of an Antarctic
exploration party was munihcent
apart from its scientific advantages.
Must he deliberately refuse it, remain
ing in the narrow precincts of the un
versity out of choice-his own choice?
He laughed derisively at the bold yell
low flame, resting his distracted head
in his hands. The lovely face of Lydia
Cameron, artist and woman, seemed to
rise of the blaze.
"You or Ambition, Lydia?" he NUT
tered. Ambition is cruel, stern and
cold. You-how warm and sweet your
womanliness, how dear the witchery Of
your eyes and lips, how comforting the
sympathy of your low voice! Love is
better than Ambition. 1t is-it is"
He repeated the sentence as if not
quite sure of its fnality. However, it
proved to be his decision in the end.
Thenext day, hesent a note of regret
to Drahlgen. A few hours later, he
sought Lydia's house, ceiling strangely
happy.
The lights had just been turned on.
The maid was giving the last touches to
Lydia's tea table and Lydia sat by,
smiling her approval. She heard a
bounding step outside, hasty ring,
then hurried entrance. She glanced
at the clock. 1t was too early for West.
Yet West it must be, for no one she
knew entered her house with such
zest.
Yes, it was he. She smiled in greet
ing, giving him the tips of her little,
warm fingers.
"This is so NICE" she said. II was
rather lonely at my solitaire tea party.
Uncle Nat is out, and even the maid
looked sorry for me. But, now that
you have saved the situation, please
tell me what it is that makes you look
so joyful this EVENING""
No, he would not tell her yet. He
smiled and said something foolish as
he took the proffered cup. While he
slipped it, he looked at her in strange,
new way. She had different meaning
to him since yesterday-a dearer, full
er meaning than before. For had he
not given up fame and wealth for her,
for the soul behind those deep, gray
eyes, for the beauty Of that pale, sweet
face framed by the dark hair? What
mattered it that she did not know yet ?
She would know soon, soon.
With difficulty he restrained himself
until the maid removed the cups and
softly closed the door. And then he
told his story, rushingly, like the leap
of torrent down the mountain side.
Lydia's eyes softened, widened, as she
stood there listening breathless. Sud
denly he stopped the torrent of words.
"What is your answer?" he eagerly
whispered, ready to clasp her in his
arms at the slightest token of response
from her.
Instead, she covered her eyes with he
long, artist fingers. With difficulty
she controlled that ominous swayiBg
of her slender body. 1t was as though
q precipice were at her feet.
"This silence, Lydia, what is it?" he
asked, apprehensively.
She gasped, then settled her face in
q wan smile.
"If love were all" she began, but
her voice failed her. He seized her
wrist almost roughly.
"Love Is ALL" he exclaimed fercely
"Do you think that fame and ambition
are 10 be compared to love? You
would throw me over for your work?
Lydia, Lydia, dearest, let me convincs
you that the woman is higher than the
artist"
His voice was full of pleading. She
shook her head woefully.
"No, mol" at last she managed to ar
ticulate. "It is not my art, however
1 love it. 1 would not send you from
me because of it,"
He sank into the nearest chair, giving
vent to a groan of despair. Another
had won the treasure of her heart while
he had dallied.
"You do not love me" he finally whis-
pered. 1t was scarcely audible, that
husky sentence which hurt so. She
went swiftly to his side. She knelt
by his chair to comfort him.
81 do love you, Ellis! love you, oh,
so much better than love my art!"
He arose quickly and twitched his
lips as if to speak, but she placed her
fingers to them with pathetic little
gesture.
ut is useless, dear" she began, smil-
ing sadly. What you would say, l
do so long to hear-any woman would.
But it would make it harder for me and
for you. l too must leave so much
unsaid, because-because love is not
all! 1t is not the only thing. 1t may
be greater than ambition, greater than
art, greater than the others, but it is