Harrisburg telegraph. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1879-1948, 1917-01-27
(Continued)

hands together calmly; for now she
must approach. another grave prob
lem; herself. What of her love? 1t
the knowledge brought her no joy.
There is this strange thing about the
love of such simple natures as Tavy's
and Jeans; it can be covered with
debris of every offending sort, but,
scrape amid the refuse, and it is al
ways there. 1t will survive abuse, it
will survive anything. She despised
that love, in this black hour, with only
the company of the cold stars and
the bending trees and the lonely
lights which shimmered in the lake.
She would have plucked it from her,
If she could, but she realized the fu-
tility of that even while she reasoned
with herself; and the knowledge was
humiliation to her, as If in herself
there was something of basenesS, as
if she herself were doing something,
in loving Billy, which was a part of
this degradation he had suffered. 1t
was incredible that in her there was
still a spark of fondness for this hud-
died object, the touch of which had
repulsed her, this creature which
breathed SO heavily in it's stupid
slumber. Yet she was clear-eyed
enough, truthful enough, and un-
smirched enough of soul to realize.
and admit, that the spark was still
there. Very well, then, let her say
it, let her acknowledge it, to her
shame. She had given her love, and
it could not be recalled. Love, which
exists, not to be beaconed or dismissed
at will. What next? oh, Billy!
Billy!
What next? That was a harder
problem than any, problem she
should not have had to face. Why,
she was only little Tavy. That very
night she had been a girl, in her
dainty little white chiffon frock, with
the light of merriment in her eyes,
with imps of mischief twinkling in
her glossy black curls Now, sud
of womanhood heavy upon her soul.
She had joined the ranks of them
who have borne the weight of all the
worlds woes since the world began;
and that Tavy was not crushed by. the
intolerable weight is the reason the
world has lasted.
What neXt?> Not every love finds
fruition. There are loves which are
the better for sitting. There wan
der through the world a countless
army of silent women who have not
dared love where they would, and so
have paid the price of dwelling apart,
but have completed. Happiness? Pos
slbly not; but self-respect, yes. For
a long time she pondered that, while
she passed between the swaying
branches down the west drive and
up the east drive, and across by the
ghostly fountain splashing away in
its great basin below, its pearl-like
drops leaping up to catch the light
OF the stars, and dropping in glee.
n 1nY1f 20
on long, long journey they knew
not where. They were free, those
drops in the fountain, free to swirl
and eddy and glisten. and tumble over
rocks and splash up in foam and
spray. Free.
Free? There is no such thing as
freedom. Those drops in the foun
tain were forced through dark pipe.
and their channels were made for
them; and so are the channels made
Tor human life. Even let her decide
10 send Billy away forever, and,
cramping her love for him so that
1T should allow other things to grow
IN her heart, her future course was
forced upon her. Where was happi-
ness? Where was it kept hidden
mere mad been happiness in her past.
tnough she had scarcely noticed il at
the Tune, but searching through every
nook and Granny of her future, she
could net find it again. She could
not be happy if she married Billy.
She could not be happy if she did
not. Very well, then, let her saw
that there was no happiness for her,
except in the joy which she might
bring into the lives of others. excent
as she carried her sorrow in cheerful
ness, and with a smile of patience
on her lips and i'll her eyes; the smile
ol jean. How well she understood, it
q
and with cheerful patience. here
under the far-off, blue, star-studded
vault of the sky; there was no han
piness for her. What next?
AS Tavy saw the gray shadow of
that next" moving before her. she
smiled the smile which is never seen
but at the summit of pyre. Dutv
And so she came, at last, to- the az
lotted pleasure of all the women of
Jean Stuarts strain. From mother
TO daughter, through q long race. had
descended that one great privilege of
self-sacrifice; only Tavy had found n
young, so young that she had not vet
nad I.i her youth, only her girlhood.
She was thankful, now, for The GOV
geous party at the Bennings'. even
though it had resulted in this disaster.
For once she had seen the glitter ~
the nights, had heard the languor Of
the music, had tasted the jov OF
youthlui happiness, before she grew
old, and had set upon her raven curls
the unburnished and unglitterine
crown of duty. Very well, then LEI
1t be her duty. Happiness was bnt
a selfish pleasure, after all.
Where did her duty lie? Not to
herself. To her mother; the motber
who had suffered so many years in
sweet patience, who had worn ber
crown of duty until it's lusterless
gray had spread into her hair? Yas
much of her duty was there And
TO her father; the father who had
come es, back from the dead. They
would have each other, the fathey
and mother, and they would he SO
busy in scraping together the crnmbs
or happiness which were still left 10
them, that not much self-sacritico
would be required of Jean. Wbare
else lay her duty? To BillvP He
moaned in his torpid slumber IJis
head hung far forward so that bis
collar impeded his breathing. hut his
body was so numb that IL ONLY knnu,
IL was uncomfortable: so it moaned,
She Ifted his head and rested IL hacl.
against the cushion. 1t Topped fhere
a moment, and settled in a corne,.
What was her duty to BilIv2 rrbrac
times she passed the fountain. still
leaping at the stars, and spIashing
with weird softness into the great