Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1905-11-10

and sadness were closed forever more.
Kitten Desmond had looked her last up
on this troublesome world and the poor
play" of her life was at an end.
In Keppington churchyard was tall,
cleaning white cross, fresh from the
sculptor's hands; white marble lilies curl
ed about its base, and the gilded letters
Of Kittens name flashed and glittered
in the April sunshine upon its outstretch-
ed arms. At the foot of the grave
man stood, bare-headed, with hands
clasped together, gazing earnestly at the
cross.
Catherine Elizabeth Desmond" he
murmured, half aloud. Could that in
deed be Kitten? The very name sound
ed strange and unreal in his ears; he re-
him that was how her name would be
written upon her tombstone.
Now, as he stood motionless, there
came soft steps behind him across the
daisy spangled grass, a hand was passed
through his arm, and, turning with a
start, he found that Rosamond was by
his side.
"You, Brian?' she said gently. II am
glad to have met you here, for | am
going away. She laid wreath of ex-
quisite white dollhouse flowers upon the
grave at. her feet.
For some moments they stood motion
less together, with hands clasped togeth-
er. Then Brian spoke a little brokenly
"Rosamond, since l have suffered so
much, l have perhaps learned little,
too. Is life to be indeed over for you
and for me? We cannot undo the past,
but at least we could, perhaps, be happy
in the future; is there no hope that you
can give me?"
Then there rose a delicate bloom like
the tint of a pale, wild rose in her
cheeks. She dropped her hand, and with
swift gesture pointed away across the
low churchyard wall into the lane be-
yond. A carriage stood waiting for her
under the tender green of the overarch-
ing trees. There was luggage on the
top of it, and leaning over the WALL not
looking at them, but away toward the
blue valley below, which he contem-
plated with pleased dreaminess, was
the slight figure of a man with an iron
gray mustache; a man whose face he
seemed to recognize, like vision out of
an evil dream.
Brian" said Rosamond gently, "that
is my husband. l was married this morn
ing to Col. Trefusis. We are on our
way to the station, and we have driven
around by Keppington because I wanted
to leave these flowers here. I could
not bear not to say good-by to her grave
on my wedding day"
"All is over, then, for me in this
o,ll ho coS1 ,+ ocr clio md
YEARLY.
Eyes, if love were ALL she answered
quickly, but it is not. You said just
now that the past cannot be undone and
you were right. Brian, life is not a
toy that we can play with, to fling
aside its puppets and pick them up
again just as we fancy. That which
we have done in the past, that we can
not alter; the actions that we have TAX
en- upon ourselves, those we are forced
to accept as our portion forever, and
neither repentance nor regret nor yet
oceans of bitter tears can ever wash
away those things, which by our own
doing we have rendered irrevocable One
thing, and one only, can ever sweeten
and sanctify a life that such errors
have darkened-the life, that by own
own free will we have marred, we must
abide by for good or for evil; but we can
at least devote it not to ourselves, but
to others. The last, sad lesson which
sorrow has the power to teach us is I'M
seliShness."
He raised her hand to his lips, and
they parted this time forever.
So these three, who had loved, and
snned, and sorrowed, were parted, but
the happiest of the three was surely
Kitten, lying still and cold beneath the
shadow of her marble cross.