The Mena weekly star., 1920-03-18

 its mind and come back; day was streaming across the floor in single band of light; but he did not stir. On his head he felt Andrea's hand, and in his ears was the lingering caress of her voice. Lots of good it did to tell you to go away, White Man." she was murmuring. You came back. You brought me back. White Man, I love you little"
 And you" breathed Msungo. He slipped to his knees, took both her hands in his and looked into her eyes as though he could never take his fill of the sanity that had come back to them.
 Andrea PelIor." he went on, before you have time to think about 1t want to tell you that you and I can never feel shame again. want you to know that no man, however mean or tar nfshed by life, could do the intimate things that I have done for you and will still have to do, without feeling the panes of love that is rooted out side the limits of passion He dropped his eyes as though be- fore a confessional Until I saw you | quite helpless. until I saw you pass to the other side of pain. I didn't know that l had heart. I had strange conception of love as a thing that you give generously to dogs, sparingly to men and never to women except as T last surrender to the unknown" He paused; Andrea smiled faintly. And nowY she prompted. Now" he answered. "Now know that man must travel far be- yond the limits of everyday emotions to come up with love itself. He may find content and drowsy happiness in some woman possessed of all the quail ties that command affection, but love itself dwells far beyond at the cross roads of weakness and strength. And so your helplessness, carried to that last degree, has wound itself around my heart with a grip that will never loosen"
 Poor White Man !" said Andrea. Whether you want me-" he con- tinued gravely. "or mock me, whether | you are true or untrue pure or impure --all those things no longer matter, | for love is an integral possession. You may leave me. put the width of the world between us, and the breath of | your body will still be the breath of mine, the surge of your blood will be the surge of mine; your sins will be my sins: because your helpless self, stripped of all the clogs of flesh, has twined itself for always with the fibers of my heart"
 ''So you would give three pounds for me" murmured Andrea.
 He let go her hands and rose quickly to his feet. "You are stronger than I thought" he said. "No, I'll never give cent for you. I'll wait till you're l well and then I'll take you in free fight and in my own way"
 But Andrea did not hear him; she had sunk back lax into her pillows, Two tears crept from under her closed eyelids and down her hollow cheeks I'm SO weak she whispered. "so weak l can't cry
 The white man cursed himself aloud No one knew better than he that fl is not won when the tide of battle turns. and that he who sleeps on the verge of victory awakes to defeat He settled down to the long vigilance that was his price of peace. The day and night came and went before he could draw the long, quivering breatf of relief that marked the passing oi Idanger.
 During the stage of convalescence he read and talked to her by the hour but the time came when she would have no more of the printed page. He had spoken a passage here and there from the book of his own life and now she demanded the volume from cover to cover. He told her of his boyhood in a New England country town, of scrapes in school and of the disaster In college that had turned him iron the narrow road of specialization in the diseases of the nose and ear to thai broad highway which is trod lightl, and aimlessly by stray dogs and citi zens of the world
 You would have made a great phy sician," said Andrea, almost regret fully.
 Perhaps" he replied "B tt wouldn't have saved myself. I would never have found myself l would have been one of those unconscious mortals who spend their lives in { sroup picture. 1 would nry~r 1ru-- found out that there is somethins within me that utterly rebels agains all those isms which aim at the col lective classification of animal maI and whose goal is the herd instead o the individual"
 But isn't that old stuff?" asked Andrea, yawning for the first time il many days.
 ''No. 1t isn't" said the white mai thoughtfully, and I'll tell you why Never for centuries has intrinsic lift been so close as it is today to It's tru' level of proportionate valuation. Wha was worth living for yesterday, isn't justification today. Food raiment ans baby-grand measure less in thu thoughts of true men than do truth honor and the final quality of mercy. He sat for long in an absorbed silence
 ''Tell me-" said Andrea. ''how th' | ,ro,luotfnn of a million f0llarS' w0rtl