The Goldfield news and weekly tribune. [volume] (Goldfield, Nev.) 1911-1947, 1916-12-09

Emerald
A Love Story.
By AGNES c. BROGAN
Love Story.

When rather hrSt spoke OF bringing
the student to board l was glad. Any
new companionship seemed promising.
But when l considered that the stu
dent, being musical, might also be the
possessor of an uncertain temperament
my troubles appeared to be increasing.
One like father was bad enough in any
family, flying off on the slightest provo
cation into a fit of temper or, in his
better moods, listening apparently
with an appreciative smile as n re-
lated some personal incident, only to
find at it's conclusion that his mind
had been engaged with some beloved
score" Nora, the cook, was my only
comfort, and Nora had not what N
might call an understanding mind.
Father told me his plan one evening
with his customary hardness. The stu
lent was to arrive at 8 O'Clock and
the south room to be prepared for his
disposal. He was coming free" upon
condition Of exchanging secretary
work for lessons. This alone was a
recommendation to the students mu-
steal ability. Father would receive no
pupil without promise of skill. Ex-
citedly he named the young man as
Ibis discovery" Eric KnOwlsons flu
ture, he said, was assured. So l went
to mothers picture about it. l have
a way of going to mothers picture In
all my joys and perplexities to receive
advice from it's soft Eyes. You see.
mother left this world as | entered,
slipping out very silently before even
my baby arms could reach her.
Mother" l sighed, IF we must have
another man in this house, oh, let us
hope that he may be a sane one! My
experience with men ended with ia
Their, and l fancied them all like him.
Nora encouraged me in this BELIEF.
They're all the very old devil" she
said. And with her remark in my ears
| ran into the music room and incl
dentally also into the SUDDEN The
sudden encounter surprised him as
much as 1t did me. He had been re-
moving his violin from it's case, whis-
Ting softly. His whistle stopped
abruptly. Then after we had stared
at each other awhile he bowed.
"Eric Knowlson," he explained.
"Mercy!' | exclaimed rudely. Il
should never have guessed 1t. Not the
violinist?"
''The same" he replied, "long hair
and soulful yes missing perhaps" He
smiled. Bound to be a failure. her
None of the essentials"
81 am Professor LudlOw's daugh-
ter" l stifly reproved him. "and will
show you to your room"
at is my turn to say Mercy. | nes-
err should have guessed it." the young
man remarked pleasantly. Your ia
Their has always spoken of you as my
daughter. the ~housekeeper.' Naturally
| imagined a staid, sensible appearing
sort Of person. Again. one of the es-
sentials."
Suddenly my smile answered his.
you shall see" | challenged. So,
with free and merry chatter. we found
ourselves in the short space before
dinner upon astonishingly friendly
terms. 1t was fathers forbidding pres
meal. Afterward. upon the top step of
the stairs, | listened to their music.
father at the piano. the student with
his violin. And the sweet strains of
the instrument at his charmed touch
caused even me. surfeited with music,
RI 1in0or Into tho .sSnIsinu SOnO'
came a dominant. personal note, that
was suddenly a clear. compelling call.
Slowly | moved in answer down the
stairs, then paused ~perpleXedly In the
doorway. The student smiled.
81 called YOU" he said d%aringly, 'and
| knew that you would come"
So our love began. abruptly. mex
plicably.
One day Eric told me the story of
his life. U%neventful it had been, yet
one of sacrifice. His father. a violin
list. had deserted Eric and his mother
Just as the lad was beginning to realize
his inherited musical gift. After that
he had quietly laid his ambition aside
with his violin and turned to care for
his mother. n now she was dead.
now only had he dared to indulge his
dreams. and father in a measure had
made this possible. For himself money
had not mattered, he said. There had
been but n thing he coveted-a white
marble stone for his mothers grave.
This he must have. And nov there's
you, Nance!" he cried. II must have
you!' Then he caught up my hand to
look at my rings-mother's emerald and
its tiny guard.
Dear" he said. ''at first l feared
this costly ring might be significant"
"Oh, no." | told him. at has been
the betrothal ring of u family. hand
cd down for generations. Fathers
mother placed it upon my w dear
mothers finger, and now that she is
gone father trusts it in my keeping"