Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1914-05-17

heart. And when YOU had reached the top,
when you, in your supremacy OF ego, be-
lieved that the world had nothing more to
offer you, | made you see your terrible,
terrible mistake. | made YOU know the
holowness of the shell for which YOU had
bartered the greatest love man ever bore to
woman | made YOU suffer-when suffer
ing came too late. 1t was in fit OF sardonic
h,rnor that | sent the manuscript to you.
"And-and L Her voice failed her;
but he took up the unspoken question.
"And you kept my play three months
That was long enough, ample time for your
lover Handel to make his copy. 1t must
have been his own thicving brain that in
spired your curt note to me- It was the
same old lie with which managers always
salve the feelings Of aspiring playwrights
whose work they purpose stealing, Your
play reads well; but am afraid it will never
act."
The look Of perplexity in the face OF the
woman deepened into pain. And you say,
Owen, that the play-that acted tonight
was the play-you sent-to me- The
words fell from her lips like dropping mar
bes.
AS if you did not know that" he said
bitterly. perhaps these lines will refresh
Your memory. You must have known that
it was YOU who filled my thoughts, YOU who
inspired them.
He threw himself into the attitude of
Hilda in the play, the hands tightly clasped,
the shoulders thrown forward, the eyes look
ing into space:
aThe LADDER You were the first rung of
that ladder, Paul. | trampled You under
foot to reach the next rung. | scaled it over
your heart. made you the hideous, loathe-
some thing you are tonight. You cannot
| punish me- | have been my own punish
ment. / trampled my own heart down with
yours The rungs Of the ladder? | have
climbed them. Success, Fame' What are
they worth beside one precious drop from
that bleeding hearth No, | am punished
enough, because Paul love you!" He
stopped breathless and coughing.
THE woman went up to him and gently,
l very gently, laid her hand upon his arm.
GOwen,n she said, the voice tremulous
with emotion, Il never read your
play j.,
ing off the touch Of her communicating hand.
listen to me, Owen! For Gods sake,
listen! | never read your play. | swear it!
1t lay for three months unopened in my
trunk | always intended to read it; but |
never quite found the time. Besides, | adj
init, | thought it could be nothing more than
some of Your old poetical drivel At last
could bear its accusing presence no longer.
/ opened it, retied the package, and sent it
back to you with that note-which Handel
did not inspire Owen, | did not even glance
at your play. | do not even remember the
title
The eyes of the shadow looked at her
with fierce incredulity.
"You do not believe-that could do
SO base thing?" she added earnestly.
Al believe you are base enough for any
thing.
The sting Of the insult was deadened in a
flash of inspiration. "Owen, if anyone has
stolen your play, it is not |, but Handel
himself. Did you send the manuscript to
| him.
Handel never sawi it except at your hands.
When received it back from you locked
it up in my broken heart. had foolish
revulsion OF feeling toward it. There were
things | could not forget, happy moments
that | could not blot out. There were
thoughts in the play too sacred by far for
any eve but yours or mine. | never saw
Handel in nv life until he came before the
curtains tonight to acknowledge the APP
plause that ought to have been mine.
The woman stood with hands pressed to
her brows in thought 1This mystery must
be cleared up, she said with decision. Your
Tame depends upon it, and-my honor
at is far from being mystery to me.
-, I, ,.,,1,