The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1903-04-09

front, directly above, three thunder
neads," their dusky sides changed to
molten gold by the suns rays, hung
like a gilded tragedy over an unsus-
pecting victim.
So still was the figure of the solitary
woman leaning against the old rail
fence bordering the field, her back to
che dusty road that meandered like a
wind-blown ribbon in and out along the
bank of the dank, dark old cypress
swamp that she seemed a part of the
landscape. A long quivering shaft of
orange light, with a seemingly cOquet-
fish intent, searched out the golden
glints in the woman's disordered brown
hair and softened the angles of face
and figure into curves of exquisite
beauty.
The one touch of life and animation
IN the scene-a regiment of bull-bats
circling high up in the orange air-riv-
eted the woman's upturned gaze but
held no place in her thoughts. Neither
her attitude, marble-like features, nor
concentrated gaze gave intimation OF
the seething, bubbling cauldron of
heartaches md memories of wOrmwood
bitterness lat engulfed her. In her
tightly-clenched hand was a letter the
contents OF which were scared into the
heart and brain in gigantic characters
of fire. Like mirage arose the seven
years that had elapsed since she had
stood at an altar, an unloved, an unlov-
ing bride, the piitful victim of moth
er's unholy ambition.
Every hateful detail of her welded
life stood out before her minds eye in
painful and startling distinctness.
Again came the memory of the transl-
ton Of the lukewarm attentions Of the
successful sutton into the Indifference
of the careless husband, followed by
seemingly endless period Of positive
cruelty, haunting acts, singing, rank
ling, bitter words, and Once-a blow.
a blow delivered "to test the air of
meelkness which she habitually assum-
ed"
In her pride and reserve she had iso-
lated herself from the curious multi
tude. as her sensitive soul had loathed
the look of wonder in mems eyes, and
pity in women's. But her destiny had
found her when he, the writer of the
letter the man whom her husband had
chosen as his bosom friend, not
through congeniality of temperament,
but from the forceful but ineXplicable
attraction that opposites have for each
other, had crossed her path. And while
no word of love was spoken, eyes had
revealed for both what lips had refused
to utter.
The consciousness that she had with
in herself the power to arouse the dl-
vine flame within heart, lent a new
element of happiness to her life, but
she resOlutely closed her eyes to hopes
beacon light and redoubled her efforts,
womanlike, to win a word or glance OF
APPRECIATION from him whose name she
bore. A fruitless effort! Equally futile
the effort to revolutiOnize human ma
ture so as to obliterate the hearts pro-
pensity for happiness! When her nerv-
GUS tensions seemed strained to the
utmost the letter had come, saying:
.Tf YOUR love for me is without a
shadow of fear, will send you to my
mother in the far West and Wnen prac-
ticable. when you are free, we will wed,
and I'll devote my life to blotting out
YOUR painful past. I love you! | love
you! and one word Come will bring
me to your side:!'
This was the mama for which her
starved heart had craved; this was the
answer to her unbreathed prayer. Or
the emotions that held high carnival
in her heaving breast was born the
glad word Come" That was yester-
day. Now for the first time the full
significance of all that her answer had
meant for both burst upon her. Like
mask the look of rightly fell from her
face, and without removing her gave
from the circling birds, she reached up
eel 81 oo+i cv@ FOR
eign to her and released the ripping