Red River prospector. (Red River, Taos County, N.M.) 1900-190?, 1907-05-02

@0Af HAr1'C 49, aAC 80
her soft voice, half coaxing, half
commanding.
Suddenly he paused in his lingering.
Here is one named The Ashes of
Love-"
He settled back and began to read.
1t vas noon time and all the land
was warm with the kindly sun and
sweet with the fragrance of flowers.
The man and the paused to
feel the pulse of life. They had ONE
to the end of the road.
Let us tarTy here a while, love,
he whispered, the fire of his soul
cleaning through his eyes.
mo. dear, l cannot stay. We have
come to the parting of our paths and
l must go back Idly she plucked a
red rose that brushed the border of
her mantel.
Darling, come with mel he cried,
and drew her to him, covering her
mouth with flaming kisses.
81 cannot, dear, | do not love
enough The woman's lips trembled
and her voice broke in a sob.
The man sat still a long time, tense
with the frenzy of his passion, Then
he arose slowly. I shall 60, he said.
but the fire of my love shall never
die She put the red rose into his
hand and left him standing there, as
one dazed, at the edge of the wood.
Time passed and the woman's
heart began to ache. 1t was hunger
that made it ache and with each pass
ing day the pain grew more intense.
The only relief she found was to go
to the end of the road by the edge
of the wood and look and listen long
ingly. At last she could remain no
longer, so she set out in search of
her love whom she had sent away.
She %journeyed a long time, over rough
roads and through dark woods, and
after many days came Upon a deserted
hovel. Being tired and foot-sore she
entered it to rest. The hut was
empty and bare, save for a crudely
built hearth, on which was a heap of
dead ashes. In the baked clay above
was scrawled The fire of love The
woma looked again. At her feet was
a dead rose half hidden in the ashes"
The reading came to an end, but,
with the book still open before him,
the reader looked absently into space.
Presently he drew out a pencil and
wrote something in the margin.
The girl, too, had been in thought,
but broke the silence by saying with a
touch of bitterness in her voice. How
like a mans love, to burn and scar,
then die. | have always believed it to
be a thing of passing moment"
"Pauline!" the man cried fiercely,
between set teeth. You speak like a
child that has not yet known the first,
faint awakening of love" He had
leaned forward to look her in the
eyes, but now he sank back slowly,
an expression of ineffable sadness COM
ing over his face. But then, how
could you know, if you have never
felt its relentless call if you have
never known it's infinite measures"
He paused a moment. She was quite
still, the stiffness that is awe in the
presence of power. when / came
here tonight, | came with the burden
OF my love filling my heart-my love
for you. l was consumed with the fire
of it, mad with the joy of it, and
TRANSPORTED with the glory of it. But
now mere words would die on my lips.
They say love kindles love, but they
are wrong; for then, surely, my love
would have burned into your soul"
The girl looked tensely at the floor.
Perhaps ! cannot love" she said
simply. Il care for you, I knOw-yes,
more tnan anyone else. But l do not
love you. l can feel nothing of the
passion you have pictured"
The man arose. mo, that is true.
! shall carry away no illusions. You
we're kind, very kind, Some day, l
hope, you may feel a measure of that
infinite law of life"
James Farnsworth and Pauline Col
ton shook hands and parted, nor did
they meet again before the latter
sailed for Europe.
In the meantime Farnsworth pass
ed through a stormy period of self
discipline that went toward the devel-
OQulenL Oh the uDlt anu muscle OF
character, albeit at the expense of
that -transcending quality, idealism.
His was not a sufficiently practical
nature 20 accept a situation as one of
the inevitable DEGREES of fate and ad-
just itself accordingly. On the con
trary, up to this time he had never
really taken serious account of fact
but had dwelt in the rarefed atmo-
sphere of theory. And now the order
of his existence had been reversed.
He was brought to earth with a jolt.
To the troubled in spirit there is
one avenue of escape-work-and this
Farnsworth seized with avidity and in
it found sanctuary. From the literary
dilettanteism that had served him as
pastime before, he now gave himself
to really serious work. He was writ
ing a play begun with no other object
than to occupy his thoughts, but
which was destined ere long to absorb
his entire being. 1t is often Just such
an occurrence-the sudden upheavel
of a cherished ideal, the tragedy of a
bitter disillusionment-tha raises its
victim like the phoenix bird out of the
ashes Of sorrow to o "a far away into