St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1902-09-10
BLACK ROCK.
CHAPTER ".
MRS. MAYORS STORY.

weary, but not for the brightest of nv
ffe would l change them now, for, as
after the burning heat or rocking storm
+he diving day lies beautiful in the ten
der glow Of the evening, so these DAYS
have lost their WEAKNESS and lie bath
cd in misty glory. The years that
bring us many ills and that pass so
stormfully over us bear away with
them the ugliness, the WEAKNESS, the
main, that are theirs, but the beauty,
the sweetness, the rest, they leave I'M
touched, for these are eternal AS the
mountains, that near at hand stand
Jagged and Scared, in the far distance
reposed in their soft robes of purple
haze, so the rough present fades into
the past, soft and sweet and beautiful.
| have set myself to recall the pain
and anxiety of those days and nights
when we waited in fear for the turn
of the fever, but can only think of the
patience and gentleness and courage Of
her who stood beside me, bearing more
than half my burden. And, while can
see the face of Leslie Graeme, CHASTITY
or flushed, and hear his low moaning
or the broken words of his delirium,
think chiefly of the bright face bending
over him and of the cool, firm, swift
moving hands that soothed and smooth
ed and rested, and the voice, like the
soft song of a bird in the twilight that
never failed to bring peace.
Mrs Mavor and l were much togeth-
er during those days. made my home
in Mr.. Craig's shack, but most of my
time was spent beside my friend. We
did not see much Of Craig, for he was
heart deep with the miners, laying
plans for the making of the league the
following Thursday, and, though he
shared our anxiety and was ever
ready to relieve US, his thought and
his talk had mostly to do with the
league.
Mrs. MAYORS evenings were given to
the miners, but her afternoons mostly
to Graeme and to me, and then it was
| saw another side of her character.
We would sit in her little dining room,
where the pictures on the walls, the
quaint old silver and bits of curiousiy
cut glass all spoke of other and diff
ferent days, and thence we would roam
the world Of literature and art. Keenly
sensitive to all the good and beautiful
in these, she had her favorites among
the masters, for whom she was ready
to do battle, and when her argument,
instinct with fancy and vivid magma
ton, failed she swept away all oppos-
ing opinion with the swift rush of her
enthusiasm, so that, though 1 felt she
was beaten, l was left without words
to reply. Shakespeare and Tennyson
and Burns she loved, but not Shelley
or Byron or even Wordsworth. Brown
ing she knew not and therefore could
not rank him with her noblest three,
but when l read to her "a Death In
the Desert" and came to the noble
words at the end of the tale,
For all was as say, and now the man
y
God"
the light shone in her eyes, and she
said "Oh, that is good and great l
shall get much out Of him. l had al
ways feared he was impossible" And
"Paracelsus," too, stirred her. But
when l recited the thrilling fragment,
"Prospice," on to that closing raptur-
Gus cry,
Then light, then thy breast
Oh, thou soul of my soul, I shall clasp
thee again,
And with God be the rest!"
the red color faded from her cheek, her
breath came in a sob, and she rose
quickly and passed out without word.
Ever after Browning was among her
gods. But when we talked of music
she, adoring Wagner, scared upon the
wings of the mighty "Tannhauser,"
far above, into regions unknown, leav'
ing me to walk soberly with Beethoven
and Mendelssohn. Yet with all our
free, frank talk there was all the while
that In her gentle courtesy which kept
me from verSuring into any chamber
of her life whose door she did not SET
freely open to me- So I vexed myself
about her, and when Mr.. Craig return
ed the next day from the Landing,
where he had been for some days, my
first questions were:
'Who is Mrs. Mavor? And how, in
the name of all that is wonderful and
unlikely, does she come to be herel
And why does she stayp
He would not answer then. Whether
1t was that his mind was full of the
coming struggle or whether he shrank
from the tale know not. But that
night when we sat together beside his
fire he told me the story while l smok-
ed. He was worn with his long, hard
drive and with the burden of his work,
but as he went on with his tale, look.
ing into the fire as he told it, he forgot
all his present WEAKNESS and lived
again the scenes he painted for me.
This was his story:
II remember we'll my first sight of
her as she sprang from the front seat
of the stage to the ground, hardly
touching her husbands hand. She look
ed mere girl. Let's see, five years
ago-she couldn't have been a day over
twenty three. She looked barely TWEEN
ty. Her swift glance swept over the
group Of miners at the hotel door and
then rested on the mountains standing
in all their autumn glory.
II was proud Of our mountains that