Palisadian., 1925-11-27

NOWN gossip was in a flutter of
speculation: Doctor Hartman
L was among the bidders at the
public sale of Ann Motley's
hlrniture!
IL was, of course, common knowl-
eoge that once upon time the doctor
had been the accepted lover of Ann
Motley, but that their tranquil court
snip mad come to a sudden ending
and that from that time to the day
OF her death the timid and reserved
spinster and the kindly doctor had
gone their separate ways What had
come between them. why they never
again spoke or met, nobody knew.
Evidently, there had been a quarrel
proving that loves course runs no
more smoothly in the summer time of
Woo1ng than in its season of bud and
oiossom; but beyond this there was
naught but rumor.
1here were those who professed to
note change in the doctor since he
had ceased to call at the garden
clolstered cottage on the hill. Nor were
these observers far amiss; for what
ever may have been the extent to
which he gave visible sign of his trou-
Died heart, the estrangement between
MIN and Ann Motley was to the doc
tor an unending source of sorrow and
bitterness. 1t was not so much because
or what he had said to her in the
moment of their little storm, for he
mad spoken with obvious unmeaning-
ness, but it was because she would
not forgive him.
After the first day of ruff1ed temper
and pride he had chivalrously acknowl-
edged himself in the wrong; and, un-
needing the words she had uttered in
the stress of overweight emotion.
declaring their love and their friend
ship at an end, he went to her in
penitent love, craving forgiveness. But
she refused to receive him. Prim,
sensitive Ann Motley! The timid love
that had had its first awakening in the
sunlight of his presence had shrunk
back into her heart, wounded and
affrighted. He had profaned her proud
sensibilities, and she felt that she
could not forgive him. And therefore
1t was that she refused to see him
and that when he wrote to her she de-
clined to answer his letters
"Your silence tells me-" he wrote
In his final appeal. that you cannot
know how deep and all-absOrbing is
my love for you. If the few hasty, un-
meaning words that escaped me in a
flash of thoughtless irritation have
outweighed with you all I have said
or done, 1t is useless for me now to
attempt to convince you to the con-
trary. l shall not again ask you to
take back the love you have cast aside.
pray only that you will forgive me.
Surely, you cannot deny me this. Let
me know by some word or sign that l
have your pardon for my cruel though
unintended words. and shall ask no
more. Grant me this-nOt for my sake,
If you so will 1t, but for the sake Of
the friendship, the love, the happiness
that once were ours"
These were the last words he ever
addressed to her. She did not respond.
Silent and unforgiving, in obedience to
the dictates of an exacting conscience,
she shut herself out from his life.
Then. with the pride of lofty man.
hood, he respected her decision and
thereafter bore himself toward her as
q stranger. Never again did he ap-
proach her nor mention her name. Yet
there was not day during all the
weary years that followed that he
did not bow in spirit before the shrine
of his buried love and pray to heaven
that he might some day know she had
forgiven him. In vain he sought to
ignore the blight that her unforgiving
silence cast upon the sacred memory
of her being. 1t lay upon him as
curse; and as time went on his prayer
became a craving-a morbid brooding
passion-inspired by dread lest he or
she should die before his soul should
be cleared of Its deepening blot.
Throughout his daily life it haunted
him with restless fear. Yet he gave
no conscious outward sign to the world
nor to her of the torment of his spirit.
Ministering to others in their trials
and Affections; ready always with his
kindly interest and words of cheer,
and giving to weary hearts the COM
fort and the benediction of his tender
sympathy, he shared with no Oh, the
burden of his own cross; but, alone
and uncomf orted, he bore it in mute
desolation through the unbroken 81
lence of the years.
And when. one evening in June, she
passed away suddenly and without the
herald warning of sickness-her heart
having gently ceased its work as she
dozed in her chair-the blow fell upon
him with crushing despair. She was
gone; leaving him alone, utterly alone
and unforgiven!
Yet withal there remained the nebu-
lous hope that perchance she had left
among her papers some message for
or .