Waterbury evening Democrat., 1907-09-03

whispers of angels. From that night, I was the master and he my pupil.
 When I was 21, John Cunningham had left Ryefleld; and l had been chosen the organist of our village church. It was my business, for which small salary was paid me. This was all I was, all I ever could be; but l was content.
 My brother was in college. He was taking my place; he would realize my early dreams. The world called him a brilliant young man. At home, there was little change, save that Leona's s light footfall less often crossed our threshold. For some years she had been at school in Boston. In the vaca- tions she came home, and then could tell by her voice that she was good and innocent as ever. The next spring it was winter now--her schooldays would be over. At last the time came. Oh, how joyfully I welcomed her, though l scarcely knew why her pres ence seemed so infinitely precious! She never wearied of making all things visible to me. She would tell me how the mist was lying white and purple in the valley-how the far, hay hills were sleeping in the sunshine; and, seeing with her eyes. l scarcely realized that I was blind.
 But this dream also had an awaken ing. My brother Richard came home. He had finished his course at the uni versity with high honors; and his ad. vent in Ryefeld was the signal for series of parties, and picnics, and merry -makings, in which I could not join, and which took Leona from my side. I heard from all quarters the praises of my handsome, manly broth er He was only 19 now, but he was six feet tall, and, they said, looked much older. 1 was not surprised to hear that his wit and his manly graces were making sad havoc with the hearts of the village girls. Already over my soul had begun to steal presentimenr of sorrow.
 I think my brother loved me very much. He had always made me his contidant One night, he came to my room and said, with hesitation which seemed very singular in his frank, fear less nature, that he had something to tell me. Then he talked of indifferent subjects for a while, and at length, suddenly-alas, it seemed to me pitt lessly!-the blow fell. He loved LeDna Ashland! Oh, heaven pity me! God have mercy on me! knew in that moment that too loved her. l, blind, helpless fool that I was! had made her my idol. had not known before what was the spell which bound me to her; or, rather, l had resolutely closed my heart against the conviction. The veil was ruthlessly rent away.
 I was not one to inflict my sorrow upon others. l strove to go out into the world with cheerful face. But listened with tremulous eagerness to every infection of Leona's voice when she talked with my brother. l knew she must love him, but there was a curious fascination in watching how this passion would spring up in her pure heart-how the tenderness which could never be for me, would grow into her beloved voice. Day after day. it seemed to me to become full of sweeter pathos.
 One night Leona asked me if she might go alone with me to evening prayers, as she used before Richard came. It was a pleasant walk, that half mile between our house and the church, in the summer sunset, with the trees over our heads all odorous with bloom. There was a curious joy, which was more than half compounded of pain, in knowing that she was by my side, in feeling the light pressure of her hand upon my arm.
 When the services were over, she asked me to stay little longer and play for her, as I had often done be- fore. Hitherto at such times she had chosen the tunes; but now the fever fit of inspiration was upon me. l poured forth the story of my hopeless love. I used no words, but the music explained itself. It thrilled, it trem- bled. it pleaded. it despaired, it strug- gled. it hoped, then, as if for the dead. it walled and died out, at last, in a long. helpless cry of sorrow. heard Leona sobbing. She stood. at little