The Greenville journal. [volume] (Greenville, Ohio) 1850-1918, 1910-06-16

your hand. Indeed, indeed, l cannot
do these things. And yet will love
you in ways of which you cannot
dream so long as l can draw the
breath of life."
He rose to his feet as he spoke and
turned away from her and stood with
clasped hands and bowed shoulders.
In one moEent the whole course Of
their lives had changed. 1t had taken
an earthquake shock to do it, but so
terrific had been the submerged fires
of mutual passions that a whisper op-
portunely uttered would have effected
the same revolution. She sat and
watched him wondering what would
be the end of it. She knew at last
what love was, not the pale phil
osophical emotion she had experienced
in the cabin Of that yacht. God, how
she hated that recollection. How she
wished that it had never been. If un-
touched by man she could have been
cast upon that island to be given to
this man who looked upon her as
goddess. She had told him some of
her history, but not the part which
was vital. 1t had been easy not to
enlighten him wholly as to that. He
knew nothing about conditions. He
had never seen ship or boat within
his recollection, and the story she had
settled upon and told him was one
that received instant acceptance from
him. Indeed there was nothing that
she had told him, or could have told
him, that he would not implicitly have
accepted and believed. The king could
do no wrong. She was incarnate truth.
And she would have to tell him all
now. She would have to put into
that pure soul, alive with passionate
devotion, admiration, respect, every
feeling that can make up the sum of
mighty love, this story of evil and
shame. There was no help for it. She
would have to tell him.
But she could not tell him now, not
on this day. She would have few
perfect hours. She would stand for
little while within the vale of Eden.
She would look for a little time
through the gates of heaven. To-mor-
row! To-day she would have and she
would enjoy. to the full She rose
softly to her feet as we'll and stepped
closer to him. She laid her hand upon
his shoulder. She could see the mus
cles in his arm tighten as he clenched
his hands the harder. She turned him
gently about and lifted heI perfect lips
to his. She kissed him again. Her
hand sought him; her fingers parted
his iron grasp. She drew his arm
about her and nestled against him.
Il trust you," she said, "as love
you. shall be safe with you. You
shall not draw away from me in such
isolation. You have waited long for
kisses like this"
And then the man spoke, the man in
him.
Woman" he said, yours are the
only lips that have been pressed upon
mine, save perhaps my mothers as
child. Has any other man ever kissed
your"
She could not lie to him.
Don't ask me-" she said, the futile
request.
The man had turned away with
groan. No happiness is unalloyed; no
Joy comes into our lives that some
pain does not dog it's footsteps. With
1OUn no ino1nncNy hafora ha
"At least" she said pressing closer
to him and he did not repulse her, II
have loved no man but you"
"Oh!" he said, taking her once more
within his arms, that might know
for one moment what is out there,
how you lived, who saw you, who fol
lowed you, who loved you!"
81 shall tell you," said the woman.
"But you have told me-"
Not all.'
when the rest them"
Tomorrow. Meanwhile let us en-
joy the day"-the old, old human
prayer, let us enjoy the day despite
the morrow-''let it suffice that love
you; that l never loved anyone else;
that no kisses like to yours have ever
been pressed upon my lips, nor I be-
lieve not upon the lips of mortal
woman. Let us pass the day iu hap
piness together Come, we must
breakfast. We must see what the
earthquake has done to our island. We
have things to think about, things
to do"
Il have nothing to think about but
you; nothing to do but to love you"
Hand in hand, they stepped across
the sand to the shade of the trees a