Edgefield advertiser. [volume] (Edgefield, S.C.) 1836-current, 1912-01-31

whispered. For If at first her voice,
subdued in distance, had stirred his
memory with a touch as vague and
thrilling as the caress Of woman's
hand in darkness, now that he heard
the full strength Of that soprano, bell
clear and spirited, he was sure he
knew the singer. He told himself that
there could be no two women In the
world with voices just like that; not
another than her he knew could have
rendered the words with 30 true a
spirit, so rare brogue-tinged as
that had been with the faintest,
quaintest exotic infection imagin-
able.
But she had stopped with the
verse half sung. His pulses quicken
ing, O'Rourke leaned forth from the
window and carried it on:
20, tits thin the ladies fair
In despair
Tear their hair!
But-''Tis divvle a bit carev
Cries the bould soldier-boy!"
There fell a pause. He listened
with his heart in his mouth, but heard
nothing. And 1t seemed impossible to
surmise whence, from which one Of all
the rooms with windows opening upon
shat side of the hotel, had come the
|syoice of the woman. She might as
| well have been above as below him,
IIer on either side: he could not guess.
But he was determined.
Now there was beneath his window
balcony with a floor Of wood and a
rail of iron-fligree-a long balcony,
extending from one corner of the ho-
tel to the other. At intervals it was
splashed with light from the windows
of chambers still occupied by guests
belated or busy, like himself, with the
task Of dressing for the evening. The
window to his left was alight; that
on his right, dark. With half his body
on the balcony, his legs dangling with
in the room, O'Rourke watched the
opening on his left with jealous,
breathless expectancy. Not sound
came therefronl. He hesitated.
"If that weren't her room, I'd hear
somebody moving about" he reasoned.
"'Tis frightened size is-not suspect
in 'tis me. But how do l know
it's herself? Faith! could me
ears deceive me?"
With that he took heart of hope and
broke manfully into the chorus, sing
ing directly to the lighted window,
singing the first line with ardor and
fervor, with confidence and with hope,
singing persuasively, pleadingly, anx
iously, insistently.
"For the world is all befo-ore us"
he sang and then paused. He heard
no echo. And again he essayed, with
that in his tone to melt heart Of
ice:
For the world Is all befo-ore US"
And now he triumphed and was
lifted out Of himself with sheer de-
light; for from the adjoining room
came the next line:
"And landladies ado-ore US"
Unable to contain himself. he
chimed in. and in duet they sang It
out to the rousing finale:
''They ne'er rayfuse to sco-ore rs,
But chalk us up wild Joy
We taste her tap. we tear her cap
o, that's the chap
For me- cries she
'Whiroo!
Isn't he the darlint, tho bould soldier.
boyT"
AS the last note rang out and died,
the next window. was darkened; the
woman had switched of the lights.
He heard faint rustic Of silken ruff
aes. otis herself" he declared in
an agony Of anticipation-"herself and
none other! And Tm thinking she'll
be coming 10 the window now"
He was right. Abruptly he discov-
cred her by the reflected glow from
the illumination behind him. He was
conscious of the pallid oval Of her
face, of sleek white sheen of arms
and shoulders, of dark mass of hair,
but more than all else Of the glamour
of eyes that shone into his softly,
like limpid pools of darkness touched
by dim starlight.
Inflamed, he leaned toward her.
"Whist, darling!" he stammered.
"Whist! IT'S myself-'tis Terence"
But she was gone. A low, stifed