Year: 1870

Valentines day! as soft and sweet q
day as any birds could wish for mating
in; promise of violets in its breath
promise of roses in its sunshine =
Though, to be sure, the boughs were
bare as yet. and there were no green
things growing, save in the pots which
Ethel Romer had been putting out upon
the broad window sill 10 catch the sun
shine. The thing that savored most of
Spring was Ethel Romer herself,as beau
tiftil woman as ever artist painted, or
poet sung of. Within, near the fire, sat
DR.. Ralph Romer himself. Spring had
left him long before. If Winter frosts
were not Upon his head, Autumn had
touched it with gray.


Ethel's muslng was interrupted. :; The
postman's rap did it. An envelope, with
a pretty border and fanciful seal ,and her
name upon it, was put into her hand.-
At the sight she blushed rosy red, know
ing well what lay within, and went back
to the fireside with the thing in her
hand.


"For me ?" asked Ralph


''No," she said, "fof me-"


If he had only shown some curiosity
then-if he had only looked at her jeal-
ously; had there been some shadow of
the lover in the face or mien, all might
have been different; but he went on with
his book, and she carried her valentine
to her own room to read it there in
quiet.


Yes, it was a valentine. Three times
had that day returned since she married
Dr. Ralph Romer, and each time had it
brought just such an envelope, with just
such passionate lines upon the page
within, written in the same feigne6 hand.
Again and again she read it over-again
and again-just as she had the others,
and thought, oh, how bitterly, what q
beautiful thing life might have been to
her, blessed with such glowing love as
this-life that must always be cold and
wintry, having only the calm, quiet, com
monplace affection which her gray hair
ed husband gave for all the wealth of
golden Spring-time warmth that she felt
within her soul-for all the beauty that
many an ardent youth had coveted in
her girlhood.


Could it be the fair haired student who
sat near them in church or the dark.
eyed soldier, with an empty sleeve, who
passed their garden so often? On whom
had she made such an impression, while
he whose life she shared saw in her only
a good little woman, who had silly ideas
on abstract subjects, and needed much
sage advice and counsel2


Her poor heart ached,as her head did.
She felt wicked and ashamed, and very,
very miserable; and forgot hows.time
was fying,and how her housewife duties
pressed upon her, until the sinking sun
reminded her of them.


Even then she took one look in the
glass, and thought, if she did not say it,
that a great deal of beauty had been
cast away on quiet, unfortunate Ralph
Romer


After tea they walked out together,
and saw the gold fish in its depths and
he told her Of the. general habits Of gold
fish. The writer of the valentine would
have spoken--so thought Ethel-of her
golden hair. The stars came out, and
he spoke of them, not of her bright
eyes.


She wanted to turn upon him.and say,
"What are all things worth compared
with warm and living love2' She long
ed to ask him why he had given her that
woful fate-why he had Gagged the heart
he did not care for. "Any woman could
have made your ea,and listened to your
talk of astronomy and natural history"
were the words on her lips ~ was
made to love, and to be loved again


But she said nothing. He saw her be-
side him, little paler and little stiller
than of yore, that was all.


But from this time forth, the little hap
piness that had still fingered in Ethels
life was at an end. She grew desperate,
and seized upon the only possible relief
to the monotony of her life. Very beau
tiful, very lively, much courted by the
village coterie, she found no difficulty in
becoming that must detestable Of crea-
ihres, a married flirt.


y Ralph Romer never sought to keep her
at home, but he seldom went out with
her. More than once the golden haired
student or the dark-eyed soldier had
found it the most natural thing in the
world to act as escort home after some
social meeting, and no harm was done;
only there were too many bushes, too
many smiles, too lingering a clasp of
parting hands, when one remembered
that Ethel Romcr was a wife. Home
was neglected; but Ralph did not com
plain.


So the long year rolled around, and
Valentines Day came again. Ethel
had watched and waited for its coming
not quite the same pure hearted Ethel.
Thoughts she dared not utter had crept
into her soul. The soldier with the
great black eyes and soft voice, who
made his empty sleeve only another
charm to win hearts-who had told her
all he dared with his tongue, and more
with glance and sigh-must, she had
long ago decided, be the writer of those
valentines, so full of love and pathos,so
tender, SO different from anything Ralph
Romer ever felt or uttered


She had given him a hint, and if it
were he, she would surely know it this
day. And if itw he, then Ethel Ro.
mer knew that it had been better for her
never to have been born; for, for the
sake of him who wrote those love poems,
she was willing to forsake home and hus-
band, and wifely name and fame, and be
the scorn and flout of all the village
To be loved for little while, and then
die, was all she asked.


"If 1T comes to that" she said, answer
ing her own thoughts, show my name
will ring! / shall be blacker than Satan.
Do they know-those proper, frozen vii.
lage women, who will scorn me So
what it is for loving woman to lead a