The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1907-05-02

ness he answered, lugubriously
why are you glad that | am go
ing?" she said. For my own part,
am sorry"
His hand fastened instantly upon
her arm.
''Do you really mean it?" he asked,
with sudden fervency
'Why, of course!" she laughed. 81
am very sorry to leave Auntie; she
has been so very kind"
He removed his hand from her
arm.
"Oh! Mrs. Randall" he COM
planned. You can think of every
body but me-"
why should | think of you, since
you confess yourself glad that | am
going? Why are you glad?"
He hesitated. For moment he
sat thinking. Then, looking up and
encountering the steady gaze of her
brown eyes
II am glad because''-his voice
trembled because 1t Is better so;
better that | should see no more Of
you" He dropped his glance. MY
lot does not lie In the smooth places
of the world" he continued, tragi-
cally. 1T is not such an existence as
| could ask any woman to share.
That is why l rejoice that, in cou-
pie of days, we shall have passed out
of each others way of life"
He paused Somehow, he was not
doing at all well. He was beginning
to feel ashamed of himself. But 1t
was her hand that now fell upon his
sleeve, and her voice quivered
slightly.
do you mean that you care?" she
asked.
lnwardly he groaned. He was not
to be allowed to retreat, after all.
As he was a gentleman, he could not
do so now.
He had overreached himself in his
Internal copy hunting, and he must
go on although a church and a nup-
tial service should be at the end of
the road he was following.
That" he faltered, rs what /
mean"
There was a pause, during which
her soft eyes were lowered and his
furtive glance could make nothing Of
her expression.
But If that is So" she murmured.
why should you rejoice at my go
ing?"
Have | not said that it is because
my road through life is one which
cannot ask woman to tread?"
But if-if she cared? ?" The brown
eyes flashed him a glance that were
yelled again.
He trembled. The artistic re-
searches that had lured him into this
situation were all forgotten. He felt
like one who had trembled into a
trap, and his only thought was how
he might extricate himself.
III she cared" he replied, un-
steadily, that would be all the more
reason why l should 60"
There speaks no lover" said she,
quietly. 1T is too cold and calculat-
ing. If you really cared, you would
make bid or her, and ask her, at
least, whether she were not willing
to risk the future with you, what
ever it might be. No, Martin, my
friend. you have deluded yourself.
You do not care; you only fancy that
you do"
you have no feelings!" he ex-
claimed at last. II can say of you,
as Carlyle said Of Ruskin, you are
like a beautiful bottle of soda
water"
That was their last interview be-
fore she left Saxton. His work alb
sorbed him, and he pursued 1t fever
ishly until his novel was finished.
Then his thoughts reverted to Rose,
and the sense of injury returned.
Next the explanation of 1t came
home to him little by little. He was
In love with her. 1t occurred to him
to obtain her address from Mrs. Ran
dali, and to follow her. But when
he recalled their last words that day
at the Manor. he lacked the courage.
THE Futile Quest" by Martin
Vossicker. was published In the au-
tuihn. n Weeh dItoT ltS appearance,
Martin was in town, and one after
noon at his club an acquaintance
thrust paper under his nose and
pointed to a review-article headed,
"A Literary Coincidence"
Have you seen that. Vossicker?
You are In good company. anyhow"
Martin, glancing at the article,
saw his name coupled with that OF
Sebastian Rule, an author who had
leaped into fame a year ago and
whose work was being everywhere
discussed. In gathering surprise he
perused the article, which ram
I'VE have lighted upon what we
think our readers will agree is the
most astounding literary coincidence
that has ever been recorded. Last
week saw the appearance of The
Idealist,' by Sebastian Rule, and
The Futile Quest by Martin Vos-
sicker. Each of these novels is re-