The Washington herald. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1906-1939, 1913-04-27
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Englander's zest for self-torture. But
one afternoon. without warning. there
fell upon her a deep and hopeless
peace. 1t was as If some invisible
power controlled and changed all the
currents of her thought. She knew
that her friend was not faithIess 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, fol-
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 remembered
the day at the castle, and went over
again each word, each look. A SEN
! sation that she could not understand.
full of awe and sweetness, possessed
her. 1t was indescribable, unthinkable,
but it was also irresistible. Under its
| impulse she went to a trunk in another
room. from which she had not yet re-
moved 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 pic
| lures which had come the morning of
! tho day that she had gone. She could
| not remember any details of receiving
7 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 (thsy were just pack
ingo 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 ut
| tered a cry. The last carte was pic
ture of Max. with the inscription in his
| own hand, Thine forever" 1t is not
exact to say that with the finding Of
the picture 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 a mortal being, alive
and visible, comes on one when he
enters room. And there is no ques-
tion that ii was a comfort; If 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 explain
alton 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
tenderiy she felt the moving of a sub
tie attraction which she called friend
ship. and which might pass into
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 a
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 pic
ture. She could not tell il. Nor did
she; bu- she hung Max's portrait on
the walls of her parlor: and she hung
opposite a picture of the castle: and
from that day never a day passed that
II did not influence her. She used 70
think her thoughts before it. Sine
came to it with her grief for the loss
of kindred and friends. with her lone
illness, with her anxieties, with her as
pirations, her plans. her cares for 9TH
ers her slowly dawning interests and
affections. She was a reticent woman
who might never have allowed her
heart 10 expand to her husband him
self beyond a certain limit: but hid
nothing from Max. In time. she fell
into the habit of talking to the picture.
She called him Max. The first time
II
made her toilets for him more than for
the world: but whether Max could adj
mire them or not. it is certain that the
girls knew every change in her pretty
gowns. Her sense of having been loved
had its effect upon her manner, and
deeper effect on her heart. At thirty
she was a New England nun; at forty
she was A woman who understands
The love which the shrinking and crit
ical girl repealed At its first step to-
ward her. without knowing. the woman
who pitied and who understood. at
tracted quite as unconsciously.
TT is very queer. Max she said.
that in my old age men should want to
marry me. But I like you best.
Only the day before she had said that.
and she had said: II am happy. Max.
Isn't IT strange? But I am Only yes
terday-and now there was nothing. The
Max that she had grown to love. with
the gradual. imperceptible advance of
affection. sweet to her shy nature-that
Max had never been. No doubt all the
while, over in Germany, stout and
phlegmatic German landlord bad been
caring for his vineyards and playing the
war lord in the landwehr and living very
with the dough-faced Ger |
man girl whose hair was lighter than
her complexion, whom the countess |
wanted him to marry; a man as unlike !
the high-souled knight of her fancy as
as she, herself. was unlY.e the girls |
image, Wrost of all was her own weak. !
false behavior. NO" she cried, in an |
access of bitterness, ''the worst is that |
! can't feel that the worst: I can only |
feel ] have lost him forever I don't
seem to mind that 1 have lost myself"
Now she began to pace the room. try
ing 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 excited conscience an
that it was her duty from
which she shrank because she was a
selfish, hysterical, dishonorable coward.
Horrible as such abasement would be,
If it were her duty she could do 1t;
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 t If it cost
me my SOUL she said, with the frozen
ruiet of despair: 'it is awful. but L
can't do it," One thing did remain; she
could remove the picture. That false
witness of what had never been should
90. No eyes should ever fall on it again
1t should never deceive more. She
walked toward it firmly. She lifted her
hand--and it fell. st CAN'T she moan
ad 'I'U do il Tomorrow" She could