Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1913-03-27
THJJRMONT FREDERICK COUNTY, MD, THURSDAY MARCH 27,

were at her side when ne bowed over
her hand and kissed II, saying, "Auf-
Wiedersehen."
That was all. There was never any
more. He did not come again. Or II
he came, she was not there, since the
next day they were on their way to
Bremen, summoned by cable to her
sisters deathbed. She never heard
from him or OF him again. Yet she
had left her American address with
his aunt for any letters that might
need to be forwarded, and stiff little
note Of thanks and farewell-a per-
fectly neutral note such as any friend
might give or receive. There followed
ness (the sister was a widow without
children, and she shared her estate
weeks crowded with sorrow and busi-
with her other sister,; and Margaret
imputed her deep depression to these
natural and sufficient causes. She rat
ed herself for vanity in reading her
own meanings into courteous young
mans looks and his intelligent inter
est in national difference Of manners.
Englanders zest for self-tortue. But
one afternoon, without warning, there
fell upon her a deep and hopeless
peace. 1t was as II some Invisible
power controlled and changed all the
currents of her thought. She knew
that her friend was not faithless or
careless; he was dead. She began to
weep gently, thinking pitifully Of his
old father with the loud voice, and his
fragile mother and the sister and
brother and the little nephew. Poor
people, she murmured, wishing, for
the first time In her life, to make
some sign of her sorrow for them to
them, she who always paid her toll of
sympathy, but dreaded 1t and knew
that she was clumsy. She remem.
bered the day at the castle, and went
over again each word, each look.
sensation that she could not under
stand, full Of awe and sweetness, pos
sessed her. 1t was indescribable, un-
thinkable, but 1t was also irresistible.
Under it's impulse she went to trunk
in another room, from which she had
not yet removed all the contents, and
took out her Heidelberg photographs.
She said to herself that she would
look at the scenes Of that day. In her
search she came upon package OF
her own pictures which had come the
morning of the day that she had gone.
She could not remember any details
OF receiving them, except that she had
been at the photographers the day
before and paid for them. When they
came she was in too great agitation
(they We're just racking) to more than
fling them into a tray. She could not
tell why she took the cartes out of the
envelope and ran them listlessly
through her fingers; but at the last
OF the package she uttered cry. The
last carte was a picture Of Max, with
the inscription In his own hand,
Thine for ever" 1t Is not exact to
say that with the finding Of the pic
ture her doubt of his affection for her
vanished; for In truth, she had no
doubts, the possession was too abso,
lutte. But the sight came upon her as
the presence of mortal being, alive
and visible, comes on one when he
enters a ROOM And there Is no ques-
ton that 1t was a comfort; II she had
really loved Max, at this time, the
knowledge Of his death would have
been her cruelest shock; for then she
could have no hope to meet him again
in the world-no hope Of some expla.
nation and the happiness Of life to.
gether. But she was not in love with
the young German, she was touched
by his admiration, she admired him
tenderly, she felt the moving Of sub
tie attraction which she called friend
ship and which might pass into a
keener feeling; but she did not love
him. Not then. Therefore, she felt
sweetness in her pain; she could re.
spect herself once more; she had
new and mystical Joy; for was she not
beloved above women! Had not her
lover come to her, through what
strange paths who may know, to com.
fort her? This Is the story Of the
picture. She could not tell 1t. Nor
did she; but she hung Maxs portrait
on the walls of her little parlor; and
she hung opposite a picture Of the
castle; and from that day, never day
passed that 1t did not influence her.
She used to think her thoughts be-
fore 1t. She came to 1t with her grief
for the loss of kindred and friends,
with her loneliness, with her ankle
ties, with her aspirations, her plans,
her cares for others, her slowly dawn
ing interests and affections. She was
a reticent woman, who might never
have allowed her heart to expand to
her husband himself, beyond certain
limit; but she hid nothing from Max.
In time, she fell into the habit of talk
ing to the picture. She called him
Max. The first time she spoke his
name she blushed. She made her toi-
let's for him more than for the world;
but whether Max could admire them
or not, 1t is certain that the girls knew
every change in her pretty gowns.
Now she began to pace the room,
trying to think clearly. Was 1t her
duty to tell Florence the story and
let her tell the girls? The red-hot
agony of the idea seemed to her ex-
cited conscience an intimation that 1t
was her duty from which she shrank
because she was selfish, hysterical,
dishonorable coward Horrible as
such abasement would be, If 1t were
her duty, she could do It; what she
could not, what she would not do, was
to tear the veil from the pure and
mystical passion which had been the
flower Of her heart. mot II 1t cost
me my SOUL" she said, with the fro
zen quiet of despair; ut is awful, but
I can't do it," One thing did remain;