The Glenwood post., 1918-12-21

1 can see your dark eyes widen in
surprise at this mode Of address, when
you glance at my signature. But am
far away and dare brave your indig-
nation.
This is the name 1 gave you in my
heart, looking down that first glorious
morning from the window of my coun-
try stopping place. Beneath the win
dow, you were picking white roses
from trellis, and your upraised face
was as sweet and fair as they. When
we met at breakfast and our hostess
mumbled your name in introduction, it
seemed to me less reality than the
one had given you. Mrs. Friedmann,"
she said with provincial formality,
meet Mr.. Hazelton, land involuntarily
you smiled-smiled, and changed from
gloomy forboding, to joyful anticipa-
ton, my necessary stay in the loneli-
ness of the foothills. Mine, was big
engineering job, and past experience
had taught me to expect little in the
way of country hospitality.
To find you in all your loveliness,
hidden in this retreat was good for
tune indeed. To be allowed to watch
you unobtrusively as you bent over
your book and sewing would be pleas
ure enough-so much your smile had
done for me. "Why?" 1 asked myself
over and over again, "were you here?"
Your simplest frock bore the finished
mark of u great city, your conversa-
tion, of which at first you were ungen-
erouS, betrayed study, years perhaps
of travel abroad. OF yourself you gave
no information, and our usually gar
rulous hostess no doubt also had been
trained to secrecy. So my interest,
with my admiration. grew.
When at evening l would slip away
to my room for pretended labor, 1t was
to hear you play in the twilight, upon
the old piano in the 'parlor" below.
And what music your fingers brought
forth from the yellowed keys! Often
in listening 1 forgot your enchanting
self; far away your music carried me
into a land of dreams. l knew from
the first that 1 loved you! Yet your
reserve held me ever aloOf. Desper-
ately l guarded against betrayal, lest
you should withdraw from me your
sweet companionship.
The sadness of your eyes haunted
and tortured me, too, with fancies Of
an unhappy past. My associates spoke
of you as ''The Mysterious Lady" and
/ wondered.
Then came the night before my de-
parture, my heart ached with loneli-
ness at the thought of being away
from your presence. And as we sat
there on the little porch, our hostess
rocking comfortably near by, the very
air seemed pregnant with my love. and
it seemed that you must know; as
gazed into your shadowy corner l
felt all at once that your heart was
reaching out-calling to me also-and
so it is that write this letter.
Formally we bade good-by. our
hands barely touching. Now. across
the miles l send my plea. love you;
l want you for my wife, White Rose;
may 1 come to your
Yours,
JOHN HAZLETON.
Dear Mr.. Hazleton.
My eyes did not widen in surprise
as 1 read your letter. but often they
were filled with tears because of my
own remorse. To you feel is due an
explanation Of my stay ia the house
of the foothills. to you alone, l make
confession and apology. VIII you be-
ueve that in the Joy Of our friendliness
I tnfnn1nI Inooif2 I f,,
ture sorrow; yet it has come to us
both.
When our hostess called me Miss
Frfedmann' in Introduction she used
the common phrasing of the cOmmu
nifty. Only at the last became aware
Of your natural Interpretation. Years
ago. when schoolgirl, l studied mu-
sic in Germany, and In the glow of
youthful romance l married there a
fellow pupil. Handsome and Of en-
gaging manner was Peter friedman.
After marriage the husband became
cruel master. Mine was a bitter awak-
ening-a young girl separated by her
own rash act from the companionship
of the family who would have shell
tered her.
1 left Peter Friedman. hoping to
hide from his persistent pursuit. in my
own country. Then the war broke out.
For few years at least would be at
peace, in the quiet spot where you
found me. Even here his letters sought
me out.
Marriage with me must always be a
tie. though its bands become unbear-
able. So good-by. John Hazelton. The
shadow in my eyes does come from an
unhappy past. But here among the
foothills l shall have peace, and-the
memory of white roses.
In contrition,
MARION FRIEDMANN.
Dear Mister HazeltOn:
When you was here you said you
would like to come back some time
when convenient. Would like to say
you can come when you want.