The Fulton County news. [volume] (McConnellsburg, Pa.) 1899-current, 1907-09-05

ulihh IL, really. IL would keep me
awake, anyway, now"
why, now?"
Beatrice shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh. don't know" she replied;
nothing"
Mrs. Graham. who had risen to
make the tea, took her seat at the
piano instead.
Il know why" she concluded,
quietly. 1T is because you are mar
ried." Then: Let me play you n
little something" she said.
She commenced prelude of Chop
ms, full of raindrops and sighs and
sobbings of storm, thing he had
composed during a storm, when
friends had left him alone, strung
to the pitch of frenzy, in a castle
on a hill. AS she played Beatrice
found herself absorbed in the ends of
her fingers. They were old, those
fingers, and wrinkled. A woman
shows her age first OF all in her
hands. Then in her throat. That
was a heavy line under her chin at
her throat. 1t was almost as IL It
had been cut there with a knife.
The prelude, Gull of sadness, sug-
gestive of the end of things, coin
cided with the look of this Rose of
Yesterday.
Presently, the melody finished, she
turned around and rested her eyes on
Beatrice. They were old eyes and
tired. Heavy wrinkles lay under
them. Wrinkles that stayed.
DO you know" she asked, "once
its mate dies, male ostrich will nev-
er take another?"
us that so?" querried Beatrice.
Then, Isn't it pity" she reflected,
that there aren't a few men who
are more like ostriches?"
There are women, and l am one
of them. l shall never take another
mate. Partly because | should never
be able to trust him, and partly be-
cause | should never be able to love
him as did that other one"
Beatrice looked from her old and
tired eyes to her hair, beginning to
be abundantly streaked with gray.
IF you had 1t to do over again?"
she questioned. would you let your
friends tear you away from him as
before?"
The question raised tempest of
emotion, apparently. Her friend rose
from the piano stool and walked up
and down.
Il am not sure" she quavered,
that l would. There is the word 'di-
vorce,' to begin with. 1t is an ugly
word. 1t clings to you. | know. 1t
is you who divorce your husband;
but how many know that? Then, a
man is a prop for q woman. A weak
enough prop, in many cases, but
prop. A woman needs a strong right
arm to support her, and to defend
her-most of all to defend her. With
out she is as helpless as any leaf
blown about by the wind, dashed by
the storms. Helpless! Merciful
Heavenl She is boat cast adrlft,
rudderless and anchorlessl
Then there's the loneliness of i'll"
Her voice was cry. Its the not
belonging to anybody. No one to
turn the knob and come in. No one
opposite you at breakfast. lunch or
dinner. No arm to lay your head on
in your sleep. If you have a bad
dream no one to waken you, to quiet
you into sleeping again. It's the
loneliness of it, The lone-li--ness
Of it,"
Beatrice clasped her hands togeth-
er spasmodlcally. This horrible ex-
panse of loneliness seemed sudasnly
to reach out and stretch itself about
her, to encompass her. 1t was as IL
she were in deep water and had lost
the power to swim
Her friend stopped short before
her.
What is it?" she exclaimed.
What is it you see?"
For Beatrice was staring Wild
eyed straight ahead OF her, as If she
had seen a ghost-as she had, the
ghost of herself-livlng this life of
deadly loneliness, with no arm to
sleep on, no one to waken her and
no one to knock at her door.
Il think" she faltered, that |
must be going home"
Mrs. Graham consulted tho clock.
1T 1t only nine she urged. Stay
little while longer Play me some
thing. You play. Don't you?"
Yes. She did.
Mrs. Graham whirled the piano
stool lower
4 want you to play" she insisted,
TO let the people in the house know
there is someone bare"
This was sadder than tears. In
It's rush and hurry and whirl, the New
York world had passed this woman
by, leaving her staring waniy I'm the
race OF her ghastly loneliness.
Beatrice played brilliantly. She
walked the echoes in that house. play-
ing. She played from Mendelssohn
Chopin, Beethoven; so that the peo-
pie might believe there were several
performers at that reception, one af-
ter the other, playing.
Then she rose to go. BY now IL
was time. Nearly ten.
u suppose" said her friend, wear
lily, standing ready with her wrap.
that 1t is too late, now, for any one
else to come. l am afraid you have
hcen lonely"
mot at ALL" averred Beatrice, hur-
riedly. her hand on the knob II
have had the loveliest time In the
world" she smiled. and fled