Middletown transcript., 1903-05-09
your name and address?
She gave both readily.
Have you relatives? he said.

| No; / am alone in the world.
| She fancied he breathed a little
heavily.
There was silence for space.
| Well? she cried out, sharply.
l can bear anything better than
suspense. Let me know the
worst.
I do not consider the case in
durable, he replied, slowly; but
it is one which demands absolute
rest for an entire year, at least.
Here was strong, proud face,
not easily daunted or dismayed,-
but it grew a trife paler at this.
A year! she echoed-a year of
! rest! That would indeed, be the
death of all my chances of fame
and fortune.
He turned from her, and stared
out into the twilight street.
Your danger is imminent, said
Doctor Brandt, and there is no
medium course to be pursued in
the matter.
She took the consultation fee
from her purse. Then, she an.
swered, I have nothing to do but
to bid you goodnight.
He wheeled around from the
window. His tigerish, hazel
eyes blazed full in hers.
What do you mean by that?
Does it, then, hurt you so sorely
to abandon a profession which
is damning to all womankind?
She colored family.
To me the stage means bread,
she answered. I am poor. For
years I have lived upon yearly
sum sent me by friends of my
dead father. I am tired of char
ity, however kind.
You know me, by reputation, at
least, or youwouldno nothavesought
my advice, he said, slowly; and
l know you, by instinct, by intui-
ton anything you will-but !
know you; | seem to have known
you always, and I entreat you to
listen to me, Miss March; to heed
the advice l have given you.
In full retreat across the room
she paused and looked back.
And is this all? she asked, de-
spairingly.
No, he answered, it is not all;
I shall see you again.
She turned the silver knob, and
passed out into the waiting
room, still thronged with men
and women, and moment after
stood alone on the fast-darkening
pavement of the street without.
Homeward! The gaslight be-
| gin to fare in her tired eyes; she
sees them, as through a glass,
darkly. The fatal blur falls
again between her and outward
things. With difficulty she has
tens on to the dull old house
which sometimes in scorn and
sometimes in unspeakable sad
ness of heart, she calls home.
There are shabby-genteel board
ers there, and sharp-eyed land
lady, but not one Of them all ever
dares meddle with the ways of |
that proud, lonely Miss March. |
She turns aside from the upper |
room and ascends to her own
chamber. She lights a gas-jet |
then flies to the portrait above
the chimneypiece, uplifting to it
her pale, intense face, from which
the thick hair falls away like a
cloud from a star.
Papa, she sobs, and her black
robed figure droops heavily
against the mantel, there is no
hope for me, none! I feel-I
know it! I shall be blind blind!
And, oh! how am T. to bear it,
papa? How am I to live? Was
not my life dreary enough with
out this new horror? l Icurse, as
I never did before over and
over again tonight, I curse the
hand that killed you!
The look Of a Medusa leaped
into her face. Women like Miss
March make good haters as well
as lovers. She stood for long
time gazing fxedly at the picture.
Would it not be better, papa?
she whispered, as a frightful
temptation started up before her,
blanching her fine lips, snatch
ing their breath away. With
such a future before me, should
l be SO much to blame?
No answer from the placid por-
trait. She sat down at her win
dow, and with her face pressed
to the pane, looked forth upon
the night. Far and wide cleaned
the city lamps. Over the multi
tudinous roofs the frosty stars
glimmered in the cold blue. But