Middletown transcript., 1903-05-09

T.
1ng dark. She. could not see to
the opposite window. There was
ablur between her and the book
Z ot Old plays which. she held in
her laps All the long, lettered
lines mingled indistinguishably
together. ! With a cry, Agnes
March started up.
NY God! apd I growing blind? :
She pressed heS hands to her
eyes; She sought, to brush away
the film Which hung between
them and elltward things. Vain.
A great Intangible fear, which
for weekshad pressed, sleeping
and waking upon her, now took
shape and form. With a groan,
she fell back In her chair. !.
] Women of Miss March's phyr
sique ever love luxury; but the
room wherein she Sat was plain
and simple-the most noticeable
thing in it was the portrait of a
man, painted in water colors,
hanging above the chimney piece
: She arose presently, and groped
her way, over tofit.s So utterly
Z solitary was this girls grief that
she had fallen unconsciously into
the habit of talking to the picture
as to a living, sentient thing; it
was the confident of all her Sc
crets, and now with her hands
clinched on the mantel, she look
ed up at the calm face, lfmned by
herself Eve years before, and the
I great terror which of late had
come upon her found voice at
last.
Papa, she said, ! think I must
be growing blind. Often I can
not see even your dear face.
There is something between US
you and me, papa film, a dark
ness which comes upon my eyes
In the brightest MONDAY. 1t
parts me from you, and this
thought makes me more miser-
able than the knowledge that un-.
less something be done for me at
once, / shall never be famous-l
shall never even walk the stage
at ALL shall be taken to some
public institu ton to pass the rest
of my days.
The portrait looked down upon
her, grave, bearded, sad. It
was her own work, as l have
said, painted from memory in
those weeks of unspeakable sor-
row which followed the news of
!. his death. Miss March went to
d closet and brought forth
mourning hat and shawl.
ut is not at all likely that it will
do any good, papa. she murnur-
sed; but I think I will try; I am
sure you wish me to try, do you
not? Good -by-good-by till I
come back.
She kissed her hand to the
senseless portrait, then closed
the door of the little room, and
descended to the street.
, There the fatal blur began to
pass from her sight. She saw
once more the blue autumn sky
between the rows of roofs, the
faces Of men and women staring
after her, some bold, some Curl
Gus, all admiring. Strangers
rarely passed Miss March with
out turning for a second look.
Leaving the quiet, unpretending
locality of her home, she set her
face toward that part of the city
sacred to brownstone fronts,
plate glass, and elegant window
drapsries.
) She was strong and vigorous
as an Englishwoman, and she
walked rapidly, with calm breath
and unchanging color. There
was no voice 10 earth or heaven
eto warn her back. The great
events of life steal upon most
OF us like the thief in the night.
Agnes March little knew, as she
sturned from street to street, and
from square to square of the old
city where her whole lonely life
had been passed, with that smll-
II
ing autumn sky overhead, and
that keen-faced New England
crowd coming and going about
her, that she was rushing right
straight upon an inexoratle
doom.
-Rofora a stately South End
palace, the finest in all the afis-
tocrati; street, she stopped at
last. Upon its massive black
walnut door was a silver plate,
with q name engraved thereon.
Miss March read it, letter by
letter Eric Brandt, Physician
and. Surgeon.
This is surely he of whom the
Ell. - .lZaL-1I~~ e1,r c,aid fn hnT-