Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-03-04


a don't l don't think about it at all;
know Violet is real. She loved me. She
meant to come here to me. She hasn't come,
because she has met some one else. l can
tell you how | know, but | do There was
some one else once before, and l knew and
called her and made her give him up.
We'll" l said, this time you need not
call her You can let her go, since you love
Doris"
He groaned again 81 love Violet too" he
said. You don't know what she is to me.
I've laid my heart bare to her as I've never
done to any living being-never shall. It's
something more than love-better, higher.
| called her Voice of my Heart l must have
her. l must l suppose | am mad and she
will never come. 1t is only Pigment of my
mind. Can't you help me to smother it,
Mordaunt'" He laid his hand on my arm.
His face worked painfully.
:" You can't smother things when they
are as strong as that" said. "You must face
them. Call her up again if you can. Tell her
Just how you feel Ask her if she is in love
with some one else. If she is, ask her to pledge
you her word to come to you no more She
is only dream, dear old chap, character in
a tale-more than that perhaps the cream
that we all dream, the Voice in the Heart
There was voice in mine once, Payne. She
she died! God help you'll!
He wrung my hand and went unsteadily up
stairs. | listened outside his door and heard
him talking softly, with intervals between
his speech if he listened to answers.
The next morning he looked haggard and
i'll. We would leave by the next mail, he
said. l wasn't there when he told Doris. Her
eyes were red as if she had been crying when
l met her in the afternoon. They mope1
miserably and kept looking at one another.
l was afraid he might propose to her after all
and tried to keep him out of her way, but he
told me that it was unnecessary.
" began to speak to her this morning" he
said. g going to explain things to her
to tell her about my miserable delusion-but
she evidently thought | was going to propose
she cut me short pretty sharply. Well, |
needn't worry that I've hurt her. That's one
consolation" He laughed bitterly.
4" 1t ought to be a consolation" l said,
" since you don't love her"
But l do" he said Then he turned away.
1t was a wretched time, and | was glad
when the last evening came | watched
them carefully to prevent their being alone
together, and when | saw them sitting some
way apart in the little drawing room which
had no other occupant, | went and sat there
too. They were both staring at the ceiling
as if their thoughts were far away. had nearly
fallen into a doze, when suddenly he spoke
aloud.
Voice of my Hearth" he said softly.
Doris had heard. Her big eyes were staring
and she stretched out her hands.
"Oh, Voice of my Hearth" she cried. Voice
of mine Was it you all the time? You?
You?"
And suddenly they were in one another's
arms.
They never told me the whole of the story;
but it seemed that Doris had suffered from
a hallucination as he had. She had fallen in
love, as a neurotic child of sixteen, with Arthur
RAYMOND the author as she knew him in his
books. She had pictured herself meeting him,
and had held make-believe conversations with
him until she fanCied-b1lt aDDarent1v II