The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1919-08-08
A STRANGE STORY
BY MADoE WEST.

1t Is true that ! answered recently
your questioning as to any possible
present love affair, assuring you that
during my long time with Aunt Mil
licent In Cooperstown, no young, old
or middle-aged man had paid me the
slightest attention. And I believe ]
further went on to say that few men
find their way to this quaint, isolated
town. So, Of course, you must have
mentally resigned me to the fate Of
single blessedness, which j, myself,
have long considered in cheerful
spirit.
But all this is past, and am to be
married tomorrow--a glorious tomor-
row, Ruth, dear, with all the flowers of
the garden sending forth perfume, like
the, emanating Joy Of my heart.
Coming to Cooperstown with a
girls yearning for continuation of
youthful pleasures, looked about for
young society. But from the first but
one person claimed my interest. A
man whose ability in his profession
could not be hidden even here, and
Of the lonely town in order to care for
a crippled elderly sister. This sister
had sacrificed much for him. raising
the orphaned brother from delicate
childhood to educated manhood. Thus,
he now repaid her sacrifices-and what
1t had cost him to renounce the wider
field of opportunity in his chosen pro-
fession none knew, save /, as l first
saw him.
"Who is that man?" asked Aunt
Millicent, after his bow to her and
his flashing glance in my direction.
| Aunt Millicent closed her lips In
a firm way that / later learned to
dread. "'
"His name" she responded, "is
Philip Dare, and the less you know Of
him the BETTER
HE looks" defended, ''like a man
to be admired-respected."
"He Is" Aunt Millicent answered
dryly. especially the former. And
many an admiring heart has he broken.
I. shall never marry Philip tells the
foolish girls, my life must be devoted
| to my sister,"
Aunt Millicent turned upon me
sharply: 81 saw the way he looked Mt
you just now, Man." she said, "remem-
Der. he is not to come near our house
while you live with me-"
| But aunt's admonition was unnece~
sary; Philip Dare came not to her
house. His greeting was always
pleasant as we met at some village
gathering, or would exchange smile
| with him In passing as he wheeled his
crippled sister about the quiet grounds
of their old, stately home, and always
Ruth, you may laugh If you will
recalling my many girlish conquests-
always, / would return to Aunt Mill
cents, content with my glimpse Of the
man who had never from that first
meeting. been absent from my thought.
When they spoke Of pretty, merry
girls. who daringly spent their evenings
upon the wide verandas Of Philip
Dare's home, or picked him up upon
some errand to carry him home in
their cars-I still smiled in confident
satisfaction as bent over my sewing.
Philip, knew, cared for not one Of
| them. el
So perhaps a year passed, learning
nothing Of his companionship, knowing
him, 1t would seem, but in fancy. Then
one evening he came abruptly to stand
before me where sat beneath a tree
In the garden.
II have to 60 out of town for few
days." he said gently, ito be In con-
sultation with other lawyers"
Aunt came frowning toward us. I
could not even offer friendly hand.
"Good-by," I said. For q moment
our eyes met, then he>was gone. But
It was as though we had talked, he
and I, Of the past that was gone, and
| had made promises to each other for
the future to come.
In his continued aloofness and ap-
parent indifference to myself aunt lost
her forebodings.
Now what" she unused, do you sup
pose brought Philip Dare in here7 A
| passing notion, likely" she immediate
| ~ answered herself. HE was always
that way ~
When Philip returned from his trip
he bowed, passing the house, and I
waved my hand In response. Ny heart
had been with him throughout his jour
| ney, and I strangely felt that he knew.
You remember, Ruth, dear, when
visited you how disappointed you were
| in my lack of interest for those things
1 used to enjoy-my thoughts were
With Philip Dare; was wondering
anxiously all the time II the sick sis
| ter grew more exacting; Il that new
WEAKNESS still Swallowed his dear pa
tent eyes.
The sister died one month ago. Last
night as / sat In the garden alone,
| Philip Dare came to me. Az he sank
| down on the seat at my side, he clasped
my hand.
MAN." he asked quietly, chow soon
viii you marry me, dearT SO that IL
| the end Of my strange story, Ruth.
Three sentences, perhaps, in as many
| years between my true love and me.
Not one eventful episode to mark those
days Of perfect trust and silent I'M
derstanding, and tomorrow our we'd
ding day.