Middletown transcript., 1912-04-20

watched the clear light spread 1ta
bars athwart the heavens like nebu-
lous mighty pinions along the light
touched crest Of a towering range, un-
til all of sudden, with leap almost
Of joy, the great sun blazed in the
high horizon?
You might be born a child of the
iogk, and light might scar and burn
your eye balls accustomed to cooler
deeper shades, yet you could no more
turn away from this glory, though you
might hate it, than by mere effort Of
will you could cease to breathe the
air. The shock that you might feel,
the sudden surprise, Is only family sug
gestive Of the emotions In the breast
Of this man.
Once long ago the gentlest and ten
derest Of voices called from the dark
to the light, the blind. And 1t is given
to modern science and to modern skill
sometimes to emulate that godlike
achievement. Perhaps the surprise,
the amazement, the bewilderment, Of
him who having been blind doth now
see, If we can imagine 1t not having
been in the case ourselves, will be bet
ter guide to the understanding Of this
mans emotion when this woman came
suddenly into his lonely orbit. His
eyes were opened although he would
not know it. He fought down his new
consciousness and would have none Of
it. Yet 1t was there. He loved her!
With what Joy did Selkirk welcome
the savage sharer Of his solitude! Sup
pose she had been woman Of his own
race; had she been old, withered, hid
eous, he must have loved her on the
instant, much more if she were young
and beautiful The thing was inev-
! table. Such passions are born. God
forbid that we should deny it. In the
busy haunts Of men where women are
as plenty as blackberries, to use Fal-
stafrs simile, and where a man may
sometimes choose between a hundred,
or thousand, such loves are born, for
ever.
A voice in the night, face in the
street, a whispered word, the touch
Of hand, the answering throb of an
other heart-and behold! two walk to- I
gether where before each walked
alone. Sometimes the man or the Wom-
an who is born again Of love knows 1t
not, refuses to admit it, refuses to
recognize it. Some birth pain must
awaken the consciousness Of the new
life.
If those things are true and posi-
BILE under every day conditions and
to ordinary men and women, how
much more to this|solitary. He had
seen this woman, white breasted like
the foam, rising as the ancient god
dress from the Paphian sea- Over thai
recollection, as he was a gentleman
and a Christian, he would fain draw
curtain, before 1t erect a wall. He
must not dwell upon that fact, he
would not linger over that moment.
Yet he could not forget 1t.
Then he had seen her lying prone,
yet unconsciously graceful In her aban-
donment, on the sward; he had caught |
glimpse Of her white face desperate
ly uptossed by the rolling water; he
had looked into the unfathomablt |
depth Of her eyes at that moment
when she had awakened In his armc
after such struggle as had taxed his |
manhood and almost broken his heart; |
he had carried her unconsciously,
ghastly white with her pain-drawn
face, stumbling desperately over the |
rocks in the beating rain to this, hi4 |
home. There he had held that poor,
bruised slender little foot in his hand, |
gently skilfully treating it, when he
longed to press his lips passionately |
upon 1t. Last Of all he had looked |
into her face, warmed with the red |
light OF the fire, searched her weary |
eyes almost like blue pools, in whose |
depths there yet lurked life and light, |
While her golden hair tinged Grim
son by the blaze lay on the white Pill |
low-and he loved her. God pity him.
nghting against fact and admission OF |
1t, yet how could he help it?
de had loved once before in his life |
with the fire Of youth and spring but
1t was not like this. He did not rec.
ognlze this new passion in any light
from the past; therefore he would not
admit 1t. Hence, he did not under.
stand 1t. But he saw and admitted |
ana understood enough to know that |
the past was no longer the supreme /
subject in his life. that the present
rose higher, bulked larger and hid
more and more Of his far-off horizon.
He felt like knave and a traitor,
as If he had been base, disloyal, false
to his ideal, recreant to his remem.
brance. Was he indeed a true man? |
Did he have that rugged strength. that |
abiding faith, that eternal conscious
ness, that lasting affection, beside |
which the rocky paths he often trod |
were things transient, perishable. ey-
anescent? Was he-a weakling that he |
fell at the first sight of another
woman?
He stopped his ceaseless pace for.
ward and backward, and stopped near
that fraH and futile door. She was |
there and there was none to prevent. |
His hand sought the latch.
What was he about to do7 God for |
bid that thought he could not freely |
share with humanity should enter his |
brain then. He held all women sacred,
and 30 he had ever done, and this |
woman In her loneliness, in her help
lessness, In her weakness, trebly ap-
pealed to him. But he would look |
upon her, he would fain see If she |
were there, If It were all not dream,
the creation Of his disordered imagfn- |
alton.
Men had gone mad in hermitages in |
the mountains, they had been driven |
insane in lonely Gases in vast des-
erts; and they had peopled their soli-
tude with men and women. Was this |
some working Of disordered brain, too !
too much turned upon itself and with
too tremendous a pressure upon it,
producing an illusion7 Was there in
truth any woman there7 He would
raise the latch and open the door and
look. Once more the hand went stealth
ily to the latch.
The woman slept quietly on. No thin
barricade easily unlocked or easily
broken protected her. Something in
tangible, yet stronger than the thick
a a. =