The southern sentinel. (Winnfield, La.) 1883-1910, 1903-04-24

but all In all an attractive II not q
pretty face. But there was look
in the eyes not good to see in the
eyes of one so young, look hair
startled, half defiant, but withal
great sadness in them. She walked
slowly across the room, and stood
before the full-length mirror. There
is kind of fascination in this stand
ing face to face with ones self, and
it was not vanity that prolonged the
gaze. They stood face to face, with
eyes looking into eyes, the real and
the shadow girl, and when Beatrice
turned away she felt that she had
been looking into her own soul. But
her thoughts were not all of self.
There had been another story in the
Goals, and out from them another
face had looked into her own. The
same as the pictured face on which
her eyes rested as she turned away
from the mirror. A face very like
her own, though strikingly contrast
ed in every feature. 1t was thin and
pale, furrowed and creased by lines
of thought and struggles of a keen
inward life; lines that bespeak the
soul and character of a face; the face
of q student prematurely old, but
with pair of young, almost child
like, blue eyes looking out from I'M
der mass of softly curling hair that
fell in almost a girlish manner above
his forehead.
1t was face that bespoke a great
depth of nature-and a stirring of
the depth-a soul finely strung. but
quivering under the Earring touch of
thwarted hopes and broken dreams.
It was the face of young man
only five and twenty, but in those five
and twenty years there had been
crowded enoughpur heart tragedy to
enrich volume were it only possible
to portray it. There is often great
vein of pathos in lives seemingly the
most commonplace and apathetic, if
one can only read between the lines.
and this was what Beatrice was do
ing, as she traced the life-"A con-
test since the day. which gave him
being-and that which marred the
gift-a fate, a will that walked
astray."
Fate, chance, circumstance, call il
what you will; but some power the
strength of which we all have felt in
the shaping of our lives, had ever
been leading force with him, since
the day, when he, a tiny dreamy
eyed lad, had run away from the
voice that tempted defiance of the
powers of nature, only to return and
to be carried away from the great
water wheel of a mill, limp and very
near lifeless, until the day when, old
er grown, but not less dreamy-eyed
nor susceptible to the voice of his
guiding fate. he had had the old ties
of the old life broken ky force,
stronger than the force of the water
wheel, in the form of another life
Joined to his own, life as different
from his own as night firm day; one
that would lead into new paths-and
new fields-fields more "of the earth
earthy"-than the old ones wherein
he and Beatrice had lived as kindred
spirits and had grown nearer and
dearer to each other every day. But
now as she looked at the pale, sad
face. another rose up between them
"a dark. cold face, and over her
heart there swept a great loneliness
and heart hunger.
80 Harry" she whispered, and a
moment later lay full length on tho
lounge, her whole frame shakin.
with sobs.
She almost fancied there came an
answer from the pictured lips, so
well she knew the answer would lee
that of poor Tom Tulliver, who told
all the tenderness, the love, the |
pathos, aye, the tragedy, too, Of
years in that one cry-''Maggie!"
when the little sister of his child |
hood had been swept by the merc:-
full food of the old river Floss. back |
into his arms after years of estrangs.
ment. Who ever has read that path.
etc little story land / am sorry for |
one who has not) has felt some OF |
the tragedy of the breaking of oil |
ties.
Beatrice's sobs were full of it now
Us sHc gave HeTseH up TO paroXySm
of grief. At last when her sobs had |
spent themselves, she lay in that |
border land of dreams where the /
past and the present, the real and |
the dream life are so strangely
mingled there is no tracing the boun-
dairy. She was living over those days
OF childhood queerly mixed with the
events of the past few months. She
was child again following in Harry's
footsteps-but carrying with her this
terrible feeling of restlessness, de-
fiance. loneliness and heart hunger
she had felt since he went away-all
because Harry was angry and would
not kiss her. She held out her arms
and whispered. 81 love you, Hruver;
love you."
Then she smiled gladly, for the lips
he was speaking. speak
ng to her in the beautiful words OF
Byron
For thee. my own sweet sister. in thy
heart
know myself secure rs thou In mine;
We were-we are-I am even as thou art
Beings who never each other can resign
lie he WA /