Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1903-01-15

deseHipt figure which he held SO dear.
He had longed to add halo like the
one encircling her image in his heart
But his mind sickened In the pursuit
of its musings over his ruined affairs
pillaged by her little fingers as rapidly
as his joyous toll could rear them.
Why had her apathy not come home to
him? Why had he never questioned
the ardor of two lips that had smiled
as gracefully on others as on him and
had never been uplifted to his, begging
a kiss? Why did he not realize how
carelessly she tripped over the treas
ure he laid at her feet?
Over the wedding celebration she had
become animated enough. Her pink
and white notes she had crowded with
bewitching exclamation points and such
chattering enthusiasm about sweet
church function, the reception and
gown, designed by him, oh, God! with
the painstaking of miniature painter.
He knew why now. They we're the
only things her silly head cared for or
understood, and they held the very es-
sence of his desoiation.
For when he had learned that he
could, not leave his work for the day
appointed, he urged her with all his
fondest impetuosity not to postpone the
marriage, but to come on to him in
the city fer a private ceremony. And
he had perhaps somewhat cavalierly
overridden her possible opposition to
the unconventional and unexpected.
What did they want, anyway, he had
argued, with the trumpery Of a great
wedding? There was nothing in brides
maids or dancing to marry them the
better A pompous socity event pitted
against the true marriage Of souls, how
absurd! Come, and life would begin
But in that one laconic telegram con-
sisted her only response; despite the
mad letters that gave chase from his
pen, spontaneously hot, or chilly de-
risive with yelled emotion. Then he
mad waited, waited, waited for weeks,
dumb, until finally, out of his broken
spirit was breathed that last plea, so
calmly, so tenderly and so wistfully.
Had his suggestion appeared rash or
over-importunate or blinded to her
point of view? Charge all to his yearn-
ing after her, his unutterable passion.
Ponder all once again, tempering judy
ment with mercy
But he would spare himself the turn
ing of the sword in the wound by furth-
er details. What were the odds? 1t
had all come back unopened, inclosed
in an envelope bearing his address In
her handwriting.
That was yesterday. He saw vision
of himself as, painting with horror, the
letter burning into his side like a
brand. He had gone to the bank.
There he had asked for his treasure, his
blood money. Yes, blood money, OF a
truth. High heaven knew how into its
toilsome accumulation his young, pure
life had flowed, and how tonight, dur
ing his sickly prowl through the city
that life had drained away while the
silver poured out recklessly, feverish-
ly crafty, to pay for his love and
laughter.
A little while ago he had started, to
find purse and pockets empty. Then he
had wandered over here to seat in
the park, where the policeman's boot
had reused him.
Alas! the horrible day was dawningr
so stony and barren and cold, and this
riot within him. He could catch the
first wan glimpse of morning, of We'd
nesday, the oath, his wedding day!