The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1903-07-17

OVERLOOKING. Every seat in the vast
| room was taken and the boxes were
| taxed to their utmost capacity.
Never had a prima donna sung to
more cultured and enthusiastic audi
ence.
Time after time the great house had
| broken into uncomfortable applause.
and now. as the performance neared
| its close. Leah. the Gypsy" again APP
peared, and the people once more set
tied into the expectant quiet that al
ways accompanies the presence of
| star.
A perfect tyre of Gypsy beauty was
| she: hair the blackness of night, eyes
| where hid that dangerous blending OF
| love and fire; cheeks through whose
olive the tint of carmine CLEANED; lips of
| the rich red that belongs to all tropi-
| cal natures, while her form. full and
| voluptuous. preserved a certain dignity
| that portrayed a refined yet intense
| nature.
moment she stood. gazing out over
| that vast sea of faces.
One among them she knew was there
watching her with eyes full of ques-
| ton and longing.
So she had met his gaze for years,
almost since the morning he first saw
her a little child asleep in his fathers
| library
| nat SlIt was a 6JpSy it hiltNt Jul
| where she came from or why to his
J fathers house he had never learned.
| That father. stern, silent man, had
never courted inquiry. About year
before Leah's coming to their home
| the light of the place had gone out
| with the death of an only daughter, the
| idol of the widowed father. To that
| lost darling Leah bore more than a
| passing resemblance and because of
this likeness the boy shrewdly guessed
| that the little girl had come to take
| the dead child's place.
| Though he loved Leah. to him she
had always been an enigma. Together
they had grown to manhood and wom-
anhood and as yet he could not faith
| ON her dual nature.
| Nor could she help him. To his
| question and pleading she could only
1 say: Some day, when the evil pow
| er leaves me. you shall claim me: till
| then be content. Some day / shall be
| free; the stars have told It. And
with freedom will come the memory of
| that gypsy song my mother taught
| me. Once it returned and i thought
| heard her calling me-but IL was only
| fancy-and the song is forgotten"
| And now, as he gaZed longingly al
! this woman, so strange. yet so beauti-
| full, a woman in whose soul two spirits
| seemed striving for the mastery. one
| good, the Otnef evil, ne noted startled
| listening expression fit across her
] face. Her eyes looked far beyond. She
| saw not the great audience; unheeded
was the orchestral prelude.
| Her soul was far away; she saw a
| gypsy camp, a circle of admiring faces
| clustered round a little child; she
heard the thrum, thrum of an old
| guitar and a mothers voice pleading.
| again, Leah" Once more, as if fed
| by a power other than her will, the
| 1.-the form swayed to that dance of
long ago; once more was heard the
song SO sad and sweet. Again she
felt the tender. loving presence of her
mother; a gentle peace stole into her
heart, her soul seemed filed with rap
ture; and, as her song died away in
the last weird notes, she turned to
her lover, her eyes wet with the sweet
dew of love. her voice full Of the ten
der notes of surrender. and as he lis
tened he knew that the evil power had
left her, that the beautiful gypsy was
his forever.
In the rear seat. long after the au-
dience had dispersed, sat dark faced
man. his handsome. yet wicked. gypsy
face still turned towards the empty
stage. Quite still he sat and neither
moved nor spoke. The man was dead