The Sauk Centre herald. (Sauk Centre, Stearns County, Minn.) 1886-current, 1913-01-02

his secret apprehension. His identi.
fication with his unimpressionabia
neighbor's mood had shown him what
to expect. These letters--these inno-
cent and precious outpourings of a
rare and womanly scul-tfe only con.
/ ceivable open sesame to the hard.
locked nature he found himself pitteG
against, would soon De resolved into
vanishing puff OF smoke.
But the lid was thrust back, and the
letters remained in hand. Mortal
strength has it's limits. Even Brother.
Eon could not shut down that lid on
words which might have been meant
for him, harshly as he had repealed
the idea
The pause which followed told lit
tie; but when Swee tWater heard the
man within move with characteristic
! energy to the door, turn the key ard
step back again to his place at the
table. he knew that the danger mo-
ment had passed and that those let
tiers were about to be read, not casual
! ly, but seriously, as indeed their con-
tents merited.
This caused Sweetwater to feel seri-
BUS himself. Upon what result might
| he calculate?
! Impossible to tell. The balance Of
probability hung even. Sweetwater
recognized this, and chung, GREATNESS.
/! to his loop-hole. Fain would he have
seen, as well as heard.
| Mr.. Brotherson read the first letter,
| standing. AS it soon became public
property, will give it here, just as it
afterwards appeared in the columns of
the greedy Journals:
Beloved:
when ] sit, as I often do, in Ger.
feet quiet under the stars, and dream
! that you are looking at them too, not
| for hours as / do, but for one full mo-
rient in which your thoughts are with
| me as wholly as mine are with you, |
feel that the bond between us, unseen
by the world, and possibly not wholly
recognized by ourselves, is instinct
with the same power which links to-
Eether the eternities.
1t seems to have always been: to
have known no beginning, only a bud
ding, an efIlorescence, the visible prod
uct of hidden but always present
reality. A month ago and was igno-
rant, even, OF your name Now, you
seem the best known to me, the best
understood, Of Gods creatures. One
afternoon of perfect companionship-
one flash of strong emotion, with it's
deep, true insight into each others
soul, and the miracle was wrought.
We had met, and henceforth, parting
would mean separation only, and not
the severing of mutual bond. One
hand, and one only, could do that now.
will not name that hand For us
there is nought ahead but life.
Thus do / ease my heart in the 81
lence which conditions impose upon
us. Some day shall hear your voice
again, and then"
The paper dropped from the read.
ec's hand. 1t was several minutes be.
fore he took up another.
This one, as it happened, antedated
the other, as will appear on reading
it:
"My friend:
Il said that could not write to YOU
that we must wait. You were will.
Ing; but there is much to be accom-.
plished, and the silence may be long.
My father is not an easy man to
please, but he desires my happiness
and will listen to my plea when the
right hour comes. When you have
won your place-when you have
shown yourself to be the man I feel
you to be, then my father will recog-
nlze your worth, and the way will be |
cleared, despite the obstacles which
now intervene. !
But meantime! All, you will not |
know it, but words will rise-the heart |
must find utterance. What the lip |
cannot utter, nor the looks reveal, |
these pages shall hold in sacred trust |!
for you till the day when my father
will place my hand in yours, with
heartfelt approval.
us it folly? A woman's weak
evasion of the strong silence OF man?
You may say so some day; but some
how, doubt it doubt it,"
The creaking of chair-the man
within had seated himself. There was
no other sound; soul in turmoil
no echoes. Sweetwater envied
the walls surrounding the unsympa-
thetic reader. They could see. He
could only listen.
A little while; then that slight
rustling again of the unfolding sheet.
The following was read, and then the
fourth and last:
Dearest;
Did you think had never seen you
till that day we met in Lenox? l am
going to tell you a secret-a great,
great secret-such one as woman
hardly whispers to her own heart.
One day, in early summer, l was
sitting in st. Bartholomew church
on Fifth avenue, waiting for the serv.
Ices to, begin. 1t was early and the
was assembling. While
Idly watching the people coming in,
saw a gentleman pass by me up the
aisle, who made me forget all the 9th.
ers. He had not the air of a New
Yorker; he was not even dressed in
city style, but as noted his face andI
expression, T said way down in my
heart, That is the kind of mani could
he 4