The Kootenai herald. [volume] (Kootenai, Idaho) 1891-1904, 1904-02-26
THE SOLDIER LOVER.
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Mh ME. MAGDALENA LAVE
JNWl leigh, "Sister Magdalena," as
we lovingly called her, was a
beautiful woman; so far, at least as a
true-hearted, graceful manner might
be so described. Yet but for the ex-
preston of the dark, mournful eye,
one could easily have passed her by;
but there the story was written, of
storms and Gains; that strange indeli-
BILE mark.
AS my head-so weary from the
ceaseless effort to count the reverend
ing music-cleared and my drowsy
sense slowly returned, 1 became con-
scious of tall. silent presence clad in
flowing robes. 1 saw again the grave,
sweet face that had fingered DER me
In my dreams, and the little cool hands
with their white fluttering fingers that
had been as quivering harpstrings to
me in my weakness and delirium; their
touch so soft, so tender, bearing faint
~, like her sombre garments, fragrant,
spicy odors, had called me back to life
when hope was almost gone.
One week ago we were sitting here
together watching the stars light up
the splendid skies Joyful at my res
toration to health, 1 playfully asked
whether her lover had died in the war:
for that is the story we "old maids"
always tell, you know.
Instantly her tender lips uuivered.
as she answered: You may be glad,
my dear, that your life has been so safe,
so sheltered There are those whose
lives are daily tragedies, whose hearts
are fields strewn with sorrow, as bat
tie grounds with DEATH"
knew the story 1 so longed to hear
was coming, and in silence l unbound
and smoothed her glossy hair. She
was weary, and my touch magnetic,
she said; and had made this my dali
ly. self-appointed task.
Yes" she continued, dreamily. my
lover was a soldier. We met one glo-
rious day, under the charm of the sea
and sky. We loved each other tender
ly yet we parted. That was all. 1t
was long ago. 1 grew careless and
And then looked, unknowing. for the
last time within those splendid eyes,
and they will haunt me always, with
their silent, deep regret Afterward,
in the desire to become useful, l be-
came nurse to those travelling over
the same broad. weary road"
She paused a moment. Within the
conservatory, a student was singing
the sweet notes of Faust's immortal
song:
"We were not born with true love to
trifle,
Nor born to part because the wind
blows cold;
What tho the storms the summer gar
den rife,
o, margartas-still on the bough is
left leaf Of gold"
We were both weeping rs the song
ended; she in bitterness, 1 in sympa-
thy.
Il can't tell you why 1 have told
you this sad story" she said, "but to-
night my heart is aching. o, so weari-
ly; tomorrow l will be strong again."
perhaps he may return" 1 ven
tured, comfortably, as 1 looked hastily
around, thinking 1 had heard a foot
step.
NO" she continued sadly. "I
thought the same for many years; and
so l endeavored to educate my life to
this-tO elevate my senses, to improve
my manner that had caused such bittpr
pain. When heavenly power seemed
to crown my labors 1 read his name
among the wounded, and the world
grew dark again. In those days
realized all my life had lost; treasures
that youth had scattered careless as
the breeze has swept these withered
rose leaves low in the dust; yet their
fragrance ascends. and my spirit arose
to gain a quiet satisfaction in life's
daily toll. When body and soul dwell
In harmony together. improvement fol-