The Washington herald., 1914-03-17
DISCORD AND
HARMONY.

The fevered rawlings and the painful
Easpings for breath were over at last, and
the girls lips touched the lips of the dead.
Pauline pressed the lids over the glazed
eyes of her dead mother and yielded to
= grief too deep for tears and sobs- From
the other end Of the hall came the strains
of mirthful music and the sounds OF
laughter and the clinking of glasses. II
seemed so discordantly irrelevant thar her
mother should have died thus. with the
sounds of noisy revelry playing on ears
that had always been attuned to means
II suffering, walls of hunger and signs OF
despair.
But It was over now. Pauline faced the
world alone and trembling. She knew
what il would be like-a mingling or mu-
sic and revelry with the sobs and sighs OF
The famishing and the dying, Just as II
had been in the last few hours OF her
mothers life.
Heart-chiIling loneliness crept over her
as she sat there in the darkness beside
the bed. Gradually the music and the
daughters trailed off into silence she
knew that old Felix, the composer, was
alone. He had been kind to her, ana the
tottering old man who had frittered away
his life in reaching for fame and success
mad a warm, sympathetic heart He
would understand her-and she felt IL she
remained longer in that dark room with
Its dreadful, clammy stiffness she should
so mad.
Poor little girl" he murmured, after
she had sobbed cut her grief His thin,
trembling hands pressed hers. a mass
OF snow-white nair framed a face pinch
ed by struggling and suffering. Il didn't
know-and while those rascally young
friends of mine were serenading me your
mother was-Poor child.
His tired ewes fitted over the crimson
and scarlet garlands Of flowers festooned
about the room. Here" beginning TO
gather them in his arms. your mother
shall have these. all OF them. My friends
brought them 30 celebrate the rendition
of my first symphony at the opera house
tonight" A toIch of triumph throbbed
through the solennity of his voice With
a huge armful of flowers he led the way
to the girls room, and with loving hands
the two heaped fragrant, life-breathing
masses of roses about the dead, and it
seemed as if with the coming of the flow
FRS the shadows of death had fitted.
The old composer led the girl to a chair.
Child" he said. yesterday I was poor,
unknown and despised. Tonight / am
famous, admired and on the read to
wealth. 1t was a bitter struggle, but l
Won" His voice quavered- Il am an
old man, but want to produce one more
[ die. have no one to love or be loved
by. 1t would be so much easier IL had.
I wish you would let me adopt you as my
daughter VIII you, Child?"
Her eager young hands fumbled into
his trembling and withered ones They
understood each other, the old, broken
man and the woman who was but a child,
for each had suffered and struggled with
out hope. And her grief was less bitter
now that love had illumined and warm
ed the dark riches of her life.
The old man worked on his next SYM
phony with the impetuosity and ardor of
a boy. If he could but live to finish il, |
he told Pauline, he could die happily. |
But in the late evenings, after he had
laid his manuscript aside, the two would
sit before the fire in his library, and he
would talk to her in a fatherly fashion
her hands and looked at her with a SOL
emn expression, but there was a twinkle
in his dim eyes.
You're in love, my child" he said, and |
suddenly his voice grew tender and wist- |
full. Yes, you are. I am getting old, |
but it has not escaped my eyes. 1t is |
all right, my girl-Lon Clancy is a noble |
young man and a gifted artist. Just the |
kind Of man l would wish to give your |
heart to-" |
Pauline blushed, but her heart throbbed
icyously. She had not been aware that |
the old man had seen and understood. |
Now she was glaC thai ne approved Of |
he young sculptor to whom she had |
given her heart.
Il only wished to warn you, child" the |
old man continued, there is Forrest, |
the rattle-brained. good-for-nothing pot