Middletown transcript., 1912-05-04

I
he believed he had inspired.
If he had gone out in the world,
after her death he might have forgot
ten most of these things, he might
have lived them down. Saner clear
er views would have come to him.
His morbid self reproach and self con-
sciousness would have been changed.
But he had lived with them alone for
five years and now there was no put
ting them aside Honor and pride,
the only things that may successfully
fight against love, overcome him. He
could not give way. He wanted to,
every time he was in her presence he
longed to sweep her to his heart and
crush her in his arms and bend her
head back and press lips of fire on
her lips.
But honor and pride, held him back.
How long would they continue to ex-
ereise dominion over him? Would
the time come when his passion ris-
ing like a sea would thunder upon
these artificial entertainments of his
soul, beat them down and sweep them
away?
At first the disparity between their
situations, not so much upon account
Of family or of property-the treas
ures of the mountains, hidden since
creation he had discovered and let lie
but because Of the youth and posi-
ton of the woman compared to his
own matuFer years, his desperate ex-
perience, and his social withdrawal
had reinforced his determination to
live and love without a sign. But he
had long since got beyond this. Had
he been free he would have taken her
like a viking of old, if he had to pluck
her from amid thousand swords and
carry her to a beggar's hut which love
would have turned to a palace. And
she would have come with him on the
same conditions.
He did not know that. Women
have learned through centuries Of
weakness that fine art of concealment
which man has never mastered. She
never let him see what she thought Of
him. Yet he was not without sus-
picion; If that suspicion grew to GER
tainty, would he control himself then?
At first he had sought to keep out
of her way, but she had compelled
him to come in. The room that was
kitchen and bed room and store room
for him was cheerless and somewhat
cold. Save at night or when he was
busy with other tasks outside they
lived togethed in the great room. It
was always. warm, it was always
bright, it was always cheerful, there.
The little piles of manuscript she
had noted were books that he had
written. He made n. effort to con-
ceal such things from her. He talked
frankly enough about his life in the
hills, indeed there was no possibil-
ity of avoiding the discussion of such
topics. On but two subjects was he
inexorably silent. One was the pres
ent state of his affections and the
other was the why and wherefore Of
his lonely life. She knew beyond per-
adventure that he loved her, but she
had no faint suspicion even as to the
reason why he had become a recluse!
He had never given her the slightest
clew to his past save that admission
that he had known Kirkby which-was /
in itself nothing defnitive and which
she never connected with that pack
age of letters which she still kept
with her
The mans mind was too active and
fertile to be satisfied with manual
labor alone, the books that he had
written were scientific treatises in the
main. One was a learned discussion
Of the fauna and fora of the noun
tains. Another was an exhaustive ac-
count of the mineral resources and
geological formations of the range.
He had only to allow a whisper, a
suspicion of his discovery of gold and
silver in the mountains to escape him,
and the canons and crests alike would i
be filled with eager prospectors. Still
a third work was scientific analysis
of the water powers in the canons.
He had willingly allowed her to
read them all Much of them she
found technical and, aside from the
fact that he had written them, unin-
teresting. But there was one book
remaining in which he simply dis
cussed the mountains in the various
seasons of the year; when the SHOWS
covered them, when the grass and the
moss came again, when the flowers
bloomed, when autumn touched the
trees. There was the soul of the
man, poetry expressed in prose, man
like but none the less poetry for that.
This book pored over, she questioned
him about it; they discussed it as they
discussed Keats and the other poets.
Those were happy evenings. She
on one side of the fire sewing, her
finger wound with cloth to hold his
giant thimble, fashioning for herself
some winter garments out of a gay
colored, red, white and black ancient
and exquisitely woven Navajo blank
ct, soft and pliable almost as an old
fashioned piece Of satin-priceless if
she had but known (which he put
at her disposal While on the other
side of the same homely blaze he
made for her out of the skins of some
Of the animals that he had killed, a
shapeless foot covering, half mocca-
sin and wholly leggin, which she
could wear over her shoes in her
short excursions around the plateau
and which would keep her feet warm
and comfortable.
By her permission he smoked as he
worked, enjoying the hour, putting
aside the past and the future and for
a few moments blissfully content
Sometimes he laid aside his pipe and
whatever work he was engaged upon
and read to her from some immor-
tai noble number. Sometimes the en-
tertainment fell to her and she sang
to him in her glorious contralto voice
music that made him sad. Once he
could stand it no longer. At the end
of burst of song which filled the lit