Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1902-04-10

The sound of gay voices came in
taintly from the distant campus.
He looked at her and smiled.
81 wonder if they recall any part
bf The Higher Sacrifice they heard
this morning?" she asked as she re-
turnedthis smile.
Not now, think. The lecture was
not Tor the campus grounds. They
may remember it after awhile. Some
years hence, perhaps"
But doesn't it seem that anything
affecting life so deeply must be re-
membered all the timer"
mo: think not. You, for instance,
are the dearest part of my life. and
I'm afraid l don't remember you al
ways. In my laboratory, for example.
In my work before those eager young
men and women, forget you, Elinor.
My demonstrations are never mixed
with thoughts of this couch with its
cool pillows and YOU
But you do not really forget me.
You may not remember me in that
way, perhaps, but you are conscious
of me all the time, just as am of you.
when my class and go creeping inch
by inch through the Inferno, shrink
Ing and quivering before the sights
that confront us there. Ones con-
seriousness doesn't need to imply
couches nor pillows nor any objective
things at all, need it?'
He laughed happily. The voices on
the campus grew gayer.
There" he said. They're filled
with the consciousness of The Higher
Sacrifice u"
She smiled a little. 81 think he
made it beautiful" she said.
He made it too beautiful. Sacri-
ace-real sacrifice isn't like that. 1t
is harsh and horribly commonplace,
though it is not common. l don't
think it especially productive of the
qualities of character he described.
1t makes character neither sweet nor
great. On the contrary. it makes hard
lines, both mentally and physically.
1t ages and embitters. Look at Miss
Loswell. She has sacrificed. don't
know of any one more unloved or I'M
lovely. She always makes me feel an
undercurrent of sarcasm or pessimism
Or something equally disagreeable in
the smallest things she says and does"
''Winfred."
well, dear, thought you wanted
my opinion"
Yes, of course"
We'll, it isn't much longer. I
wasn't much impressed by the lecture
ut ALL
you don't believe in sacrifice?"
Eyes. l do, but don't believe it's
either attractive or beatific, and
don't think it should be presented in
that light to those who know 80 little
ef life. Sacrifice is difficult and for.
bidding"
ITO me it is beatific," she said.
He patted her arm tenderly. "Play
Tor me, dear" he said. "Sing to me-"
She rose and went over to the piano.
de settled back into the cushions.
She played. She sang. 1t grew
dark. She had sung all the songs he
loved best.
How good you are, Elinor," he said.
rCome here"
She went and sat down beside him,
where he had made room for her with
put raising his head from the pillows.
She smoothed back his hair with her
hand. She kissed him.
"Oh, Winfred," she whispered. "My
love, how love you"
He drew her closer to him and closed
his eyes contentedly.
The voices died away on the cam.
pus. The moon came up.
He slept. She did not stir for fear
sf waking him. She sat looking out
into the quiet night, thinking of the
lecture they had heard that morning
and of the divine sublimity of the high
er sacrifice.
They had been spending their vaca-
ton together with her mother at her
cottage in the mountains. Her cou-
sin Lucie was with them.
And the time was near when they all
must return to the buster world.
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