The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1910-08-03

You have never been married?" Never"
 We'll" said Sprague, there is nothing so wonderful in that. I am no longer a. boy. and I have never married"
 You make one curious" said Ri- cordo.
 How"
 "One would like to know why you, MT. Sprague, who are evidently a domestic kind of man, lhave never married"
 T will tell you on one condition"
 "And that?"
 That you will tell me why you never married"
 'I accept"
 ''Then I have never married be- cause the only woman I ever wanted refused to have me-" And I have refrained from get ting married because I am afraid" ''Afraid?"
 Exactly"
 "Of what?"
 "of many things. signore. many things"
 "You make me curious to know what those things are.'' ITO tell you would be to tell the story of another mans life," replied Signor Ricordo gravely. ':As you re- marked, I am an Eastern, but we Easterns are not different from the Westerns in that direction. All of us have a secret chamber in our lives"
 "Still." urged Sprague. 'T cannot conceive of you. signore. being afraid of anything"
 "I am not often in a communica- tive mood" said Ricordo; 'T think I am tonight. Perhaps it is because I have received so much kindness. I am profoundly impressed" and here he bowed to MT. Castlemaine and Olive. ''by the fact that I, an alien, am received into the home of a fep- resentative of what is regarded as a proud and exclusive race. Never can forget such hospitality. But one thing keeps me from communicating my thoughts: I would not willingly give pain to the signorina."
 "To me, Signor Ricordo?" said Olive. ''Pray, how am I concerned ?"
 Directly not at all; but, as every woman is a champion of her sex, a great deal. And would not desire even to suggest thought that would seem to reflect on the six to which the signorina adds so much lustre"
 But surely I am not responsible for my sex, signore," said Olive, with of spell on her, and she wanted to hear what he had to say.
 "Ah we'll, then, let me be commun- icative." said Ricordo. T said I had never married because was afraid IT told the truth. Forgive me if I seem sentimental; but once, years ago-ah, how many do not like to
 
 think-I might have yielded to love. Others had done so, and why not I !? But had a friend, a man whom I loved beyond all others. For years we had been more than brothers, his thoughts were mine, and mine were his. Then he fell in love with a wo- man, beautiful, and true, and good at least, so we believed. She became his lonestar. his hope, his joy, and naturally became as nothing to him. I did not grow angry at that. My only desire was that he should be happy, and as he found happiness in her love, what was I? He was not an angel not altogether a good | man, and often in my love for him tried to reclaim him; failed; but where failed this woman succeeded. An, great Allah, how he loved her. He became her slave, and yet I re- joiced because she was lifting him to heaven. He was on his way to becoming great man in the East, and then-this woman, because of some imperfection in his past-what do you call it?-jilted him. My friend was an intense kind of man. He had given his hope, his faith, his love, to this woman, and then, with out giving him an opportunity of ex- plaining himself, she threw him aside with scorn. Did he deserve her scorn? This I know, my poor friend. the byword of those who knew him, overwhelmed with a hopeless passion, thrown on the sea of life without an- chor or rudder. drifted. Where? An, that is story cannot tell. But this woman, who might have been his salvation, and who professed to return his love, sent him into regions ! more terrible than ever your Milton, or our Italian Dante, saw with the eyes of vision"
 And where is he now?" asked | Sprague.
 Where? That I cannot tell you For a time I followed him, watched | him, as he sank deeper and deeper LI