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About Harrison press-journal. (Harrison, Nebraska) 1899-1905 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 7, 1899)
LOVE OK Bit! who ta lie that calls? Dost thou not hear iiirn, too? And yet again, the silence through. The tummom clearly falls. Can it be Love, with, honeyed breath, Or oh, my God! can It be Death? I dreamt, but yesternight. My eyelids were kissed down. And whilst I made as if to frown I smiled Irom sheer delight. For. ah! those lips, my eyes above. Were the Impassioned lips of Love. I eooed fond speech to him, I murmured like the bee. The while bright spirits, smilingly, Leant down from glory's rim. Alas for me! for I awoke. "Hearts Are Dust, Hearts' Loves Remain," (By Grace Denlo Litchfield.) "How unfair life Is!" said Miss Nan cy, suddenly. "How unfair and hard!" Bertha looked up In lazy surprise. "Why, Auntie Nan! What is it?" Miss Nancy laughed nervously. "Oh, nothing! Nothing new. Nothing Is ntw under the sun. you know not even our longings and our wantlngs and our wondering why every one cannot have her share. You girls have had so much every one of you. . Tou have only had to pick and choose among your lovers. Here is Belle Just married, and you and Sallle both en caged, and even little May on the way to become so. While I old as I am, I am not old enough yet to mind." Bertha stared. What had come over this reserved, tranquil little woman, whose narrow life ran along among her nieces like a brook through a field of flowers, reflecting whatever of bright Bess and bloom was about it? But Miss Nancy could not instantly restrain her aelf. It is a dangerous thing to pass any set boundaries of reticence even by a single step. She hurried on Im petuously. "One is never old enough not to mind, and not to want one's own some thing that might have been one's own J did not feel it so much when I lived alone. There was nothing to bring it home to me. But coming among all you happy young creatures showed up my life by contrast. I cannot help feeling as If 1 had not bad all my rights." ' She broke off. astonished at herself. a faint deprecating color overspreading the fragile white-crocus prettiness of her face. Bertha's eyes sparkled with amused pity. How could anything matter much after one was middle-aged? Was anything of real moment then? "How strange you seem today. Auntie Nan," she said. "But for all your de mureness I cannot believe you never bad a lover. Was there really never any one, auntie not when you was a girl?" Miss Nancy shok her head. "Not any one for me, my dear. Life's best Is not for all." "Poor littl auntie!" returned Bertha with the condescending, easy pity of the young and secure. "If there had but been a Jack for you as well as for me." "If," Hiss Nancy murmured, "If." She remained silent a time, then went away to her own room and sat motion less In her window, dreamily watching while the twilight slowly blurred the landscape Into a homogeneous thing like her life. That outbreak to Bertha had not been the expression of a passing dis content. It was the rebellion of a life time's gathering the final outcry of a lifetime's starvation and repression. When there was so much love In the -world, why had she alone been denied It? Why should she, too, not have had her story, at least, if nothing more? For there had been some one once. What woman exists In whose life there bas not at some time been some one, and in whose heart there does not lurk the desire, however subjugated or ig nored, for that without which her life - must remain forever Incomplete, al though she life it never so cheerfully and crowd Its every hour to the full With compensating duties? Yet how many women confess the feeling? Miss Nancy did. Indeed, acknowledge the truth to herself as she sat alone In the kindly screening dusk, but Bhe re coiled, even then, before the temerity of thei admission. Besides, what good accrues from the recognition of a want that can never be satisfied? It is but converting -an Ignorance into a regret. Bertha was at her desk the next aft ernoon when a timid hand was laid upon her shoulder. She glanced around Impatiently who likes to be disturbed In the middle of a love letter? but at the sight of her aunt's face she bright ened into Immediate interest. "Why. Auntie!" Miss Nancy's cheeks were flushed and here eyes downcast, and there was an add flutter about all her delicate per son. "Something has happened Just a lit tle something," she faltered. "Not much. Only this.' ' Bhe held an envelope before her niece's eyes and Bertha read the ad dress aloud: "'Miss Nancy Rathbone, Edgewood, New York, United States of America.' A foreign letter! I did not know you had any foreign correspond ents. Auntie. What an extremely pe culiar hand! Whom la It. from?" "It la from Rome, Italy." "Yes, I see the postmark plainly enough. But who wrote It? What is It about?" viu Kanirv walked off a few steps. "It Is not much of anything. It la Just A letter. You must not expeci vuv touch all at once." "Auntie!" declared Bertha Impres sively, "It Is from a man!" Mlse Nancy gave a pleased laugh, and thrust the envelope Into her pock- "On, come!" objected the young girl, prlnglng toward her. "That no fair Tou can't tell me Just that and 5 oothJag more. Too must make a clean .ZZLti nrhn ta he. auntie? Quick, r I will get the letter and And out for Oh . !" cr,e1 Miss Nancy fca treasure with both hands Ht la not meant for any one else. No mi may see the letter." "Antla Nan! Auntie Nan I Then It ta from a sweetneerx: "N-bo, n-no!" stammered Miss Nan- i w- Miirlii hrr br both arms, Mshlnc the frail figure Into an am chair, stood over her playfully. Mfua k mn Ammr frightened soul - n la from a sweetheart! Don't , 7- Z u. 1 know It Is. Who is he, f . -W 1 WW BW I " M , Maacy feebly attempted to push ' ' " - - etrl away. "I cannot say - t.ii mn wdmnA so eloee and if jh ta tyfc There Is so little am if vast will have It f kaw a romsc man. Bis . I . -ek- IrikM " J w.ji WstUI alawls. . re tf the wor(rr ft f i t MgM SM...1.M i I s DEATH. And dawn that dream of rapture broke. Hark! now again the call. And oh, I fear! I fear! What if sweet Love be not anear And Xea!h my steps enthrall? I am so young, and he is old. Warm runs myjlood, and tig Is cold. Goodbye, dear heart, goodbye! To him who calls I ypeed: Cnfearir.g wberesoe'tr he lead And It is Death go I. For lo! the myrtle crown aneath The eyes of Love shine forth from Death. Emma M. Long. among the fragrant lavender leaves of her memory, in which It had been em balmed for so long. "Auntie! And you vowed only yes terday that there was no one!" "But we were not sweethearts. That is " She stumbled and stopped. "I understand," said Bertha, encour agingly. "You were not precisely en gaged. Neither were Jack and I for an age. But! Well. aAnd then?" "Then we were separated." Miss Nan cy's face changed. "I never saw him again." "You quarreled?" "No, no! We never quarreled." Bertha was hanging on her words breathlessly. "Somebody came be tween you? Another girl?" Miss Nancy hesitated. Bertha eager ly followed up the clew. "There was an other girl? Say, auntie, was there?" "Y-yes." "Horrid thing! How I hate her!" Miss Nancy hastily lifted her faded, gentle, gray eyes. There was an ear nest, almost a reproving look In them. "You must not say that, dear. Elie Brown was a sweet girl. She was un stable lieht but she was a sweet girl and pretty as a pink. She was my dearest friend." "And bhe stole your lover from you? I like that"'. "No, oh, no! You do not mean to, but you do her wrong. She was a sweet girl, I tell you." "Yet she came between you. I know she did. Did he marry her?" "No, She married some one else." "The Jilt!" "Hush, Bertha!" MSbs Nancy's soft voice grew suddenly quite stern. "You do not understand. Elsie never did anything wrong. She forgot him that is all and and he and I were sep arated." "You poor little young auntie! How hard! And you knew all the time that It was you he really loved?" Miss Nancy turned aside her head, crimsoning to the ears. "My dear," she answered, very gently and with great effort, "I only knew all the time that I loved him." "You sweet old darling! Has he married ?" "No." "Hurrah!" Bertha executed a gay pi rouette. "And at last he has come back to his first love and he has writ ten to tell you so? You might as well confess, auntie, as blush so outrage ously. I never saw such blushing: How does he say it? Do tell me, there's a dear! And what reason does he give for not writing sooner?" 'There was nothing to explain, uer- that I always understood it perfectly, lie was never to blame for anything." "Bless your loyal heart! But you are to have your riphts at last, are you not. Auntie Nan? He Is coming back to you now, is he not?" Miss Nancy s fingers Dovea nervously in her lap. "He does not say. It. Is It is only a letter, l told you. tsut I I" 'Oh, you read between the lines, or course! supplemented isenna, wimnj. That Is what Jack and I do. we write wide apart on purpose. At least now. though, you will write to Mr. Keene, will you not, auntie?" Miss Nancy s head aroopea. les. she answered at last In a voice trem-: bllng with a subdued pathetic happi ness. "That much 1 may ao. i snan write to him.' "A nice letter, auntie? As nice as mine ro jacK : Miss Nancv looked up. The iignt oi a new spring time seemed to have passed transformingly over her. Her eyes were deep and dark and young again. "You could not write your Jack such a let ter If you tried," she said. "I have waited for years to write bim. it is as if I had been dumb till now." Bertha laid her hand sympatneucany over Miss Nancy's thin fingers. They were hot and quivering, as If with eagerness to bgin, and the girl Im pulsively drew her to tne aesK. sweep ing her own half-finished not uncere moniously out of the way. "Sit here and begin at once now, while you are in the mood for it," she ordered, -with the unconscious patronage of the com petent adviser. "I will go away and leave you alone. Ana, a untie, may i tell the girls?" Little waves of color ran over suss Nancy's transparent cheeks In alterna tive negative and assent. "Do what you like," she murmured faintly. "There is not really anything to tell, you know." And she bent her head low over the desk, while Bertha flew Jubi lantly from the room. It was an unusually long letter that Miss Nancy wrote, and from beginning to end the writing of It was one ex quisite, Intoxicating Joy. When at last she appeared, cloafked and bonneted among her nieces, some new and vital atmosphere, vibrant with Intense emo tion, seemed to enetr with her. The three young girls looked at her awkwardly, deeply Interested, yet not knowing how to express themselves, for even keener than tneir curiosity in the hinted love story was their sense of the Incongruity of connecting u wun Auntie Nan. How could love begin nil over a rain for any one at a time when It ought to be coming to an end? Why, Auntie Nan was nearly fifty years old. t think of her at that age with a lover was like watching for the sun rise In the middle of the day. "I am going to the village to post utter" Miss Nancy said, irresolutely Interpreting the expression on their frank, mobile laces. "There Is no hurry, you know," Sal lie observed. "There Is no mall steam er before Saturday." "Oh!" returned Miss Nancy, confns div. "1 had not thought about the learners." "Dear m. you will hare to wait a whole month for your answer! sain R.rtha rommlseratlnrly. "How will you do It? I could never wait so long aa thatr "A month," repeated Miss Nancy, so berly. "But I have waitea aii my nr a Burnta la ne time at all." And. look. lag into bar patient face, the girts i anllUs II that Its reticence guarded gatM deep and abiding aaaawi as) r tbtr kd rwuned a. They talked much of Mr. Keene U the following days after the fiist re serve had worn away, and Miss Nancy as persuaded into showing them s photograph which she bad had bidden away for twenty years. It was a i harming fine, manly and full ol hweeiness, mil Mis Nancy's eyes grew dim as she gaze4 at it. "He looks ever so irnnh like Jack, do-sn't lie?" Bertha commented In de light, and Mi?s Nancy confessed that he did, and trial the chance resem blance had always been a secret ele ment In her partiality for the young feliow. "Uf course, Mr. Keene must have changed Immensely, thouch," Salli said, ruthlessly, looking ov-r her shoul der. "He could not possibly look like that now, you know, lie is sure to bs rather bald and fat." "lie will always look rxactly the same to me," Mss Nancy sal J. and the girls loved her the men for her simplicity, thouch making a little mer ry over it behind her buck. There was no denying, however, th.it Mls Nancy v as Invested with a m-w Importance hi the eyes of this saury grout by the discovery of hrr lov-r. and the gentl little lady throve vi. :y In the benefl cent atmosphere of h-ioin-shlp. Nev er (tince she had come to take charge of her orphan niecm had h held her dclh ate head so straight or i-M d her mild orders so confidently. She began, too. to study the mod. s and to dress still more daintily, courting sugges tion In mod-rnttlf- of adornment, and allowing the girls thf work their will with her soft, dull hair, In the end adopting the style that they agreed ujon as the most becoming. "It Is only natural that I should like to look my best," she said, apologet. ically. They assented with a heartiness that did their understanding credit, and be guiled her Into talking more and more of Mr. Keene, teasing her into various small reminiscences of the days when she first knew him and completing her sketchy outlines to suit themselves, while exulting the embarrassment oc casioned by their audacity. "How about that rose that you saved to wear for him. Auntie Nan?'" Sallie asked one evening. "Do you suppose he ha It yet?" "My dear, I do not know what event ually became of the rose." Mlsn Nancy replied in the slow, careful way In which she weighed her every word when ppf-aklng of her lover. "I have not seen It since that nieht. The gar den ai full of ropes, hut this was the loveliest. It grew JtiFt beside the Kite." "Hut of course you gave It to him when you went to get it and found him there? Own up, Auntie Nan! Did you not?" "No, dear," the gentle voice return ed In Its precise accents. "I did not give It to him. He took It." "And what did he do with It, auntie? jwsais pus jdos em uo nd irtj piu It was your picture laid upon bis breast? Did he? Do say!" Miss Nancy looked straight at her In quisitor. Her voice grew oddly hsrd. "No. Klsle stood there, too. He gave It to Elsie Brown. Then a look of an old haunting pain crossed her features, and Bertha and May recognized Instinctively that here was some holy ground no touch should desecrate. But natures are not gifted alike with spiritual Insight, and heed less Sallle rattled on. 'But didn't he give you a kiss for the rose, Auntie Nan, later, when Elsie was not there? Don't be shy of us girls. We know all about roses and kisses. Say, didn't he kiss you?" Miss Nancy suddenly stiffened and drew back, dropping her lids over a curious look of ashamed longing that leaped Into her eyes. "No, she an swered coldly. "He never klsed me not then nor any time." And they all grew uncomfortable together, and wished that the question had not been asked. A day or so after the first mail that could have brought Miss Nancy a reply to her letter, she came back from the postoffice, having lately assumed the charge of carrier, and, finding Bertha on the porch, laid a letter In the girl's lap. "Something from your Jack," dear." she Baid, and then touched her pocket with a nervous hand. "A letter for me, too, she added. In a whisper and hurried away.. When she reap peared, long after, her eyes were shin ing, and there was a bright flush on her cheeks. 'I have been writing that Is all," she explained, simply, when her nieces roguishly commented on her looks. You don't know what it Is to me to write to him at last." From that day she wrote at regular Intervals, and always for hours after wards she looked as one who, fainting of thirst, had tome to an oasis in a desert. By degrees she became alto gether a different woman. The reserve, self-restraint and aloofness which had hitherto kept her a stranger in her home, melted gradually away, and her nieces, to their astonishment, sounded depths of feeling In her In comparison with which their own seemed droiiy shallow. Insensibly, too, her attitude toward them changed. She was no lon ger "Just Auntie Nan," the chaperon and housekeeper, doer of all the Blight drudgeries so irksome in the doing and so indispensable to peaceful living, but the virtual head of the house, aa sip should have been, the critic and not the criticised, some one to consult and defer to and obt-y. When Bailie's wedding day drew near Miss Nancy came prominently forward as never before, taking a more author- itative and, if possible, a more Inter ested part In the preparations than even the bride elect, no detail proving too petty to claim her closest care. "How good you are to me!" Sallle said, gratefully. "How can I ever rw pay you?" "By coming back and helping when It Is her turn and all this Is to do for her," suggested Bertha. "For me?" exclaimed Miss Nancy, startled and confused. "For me?' "Certainly, you dear goosey. What do you suppose all these letters ore leading up to? How soon Is It to be, "X have not thought." Miss Nanc was all In a tremor, looking at the girls In a dazed way. "You must give me time to think." "Time!" echoed 8allle. "You have had months and months already. What does Mr. Keene say about it. Auntie Nan? When is he coming buck?" 'Not not now," faltered Miss Nancy. "When he comes the wedding will be at once, of course," Sallle declared. "And what on earth Is to be done with May and Bertha then? They will hsv. to come to Belle or me." Miss Nancy's thin lips straightened "OhIW," she said, seriously, "set your mind at rest. I will never leave them." "So you think now, but wait till h comes!' 'objected Bertha. Miss Nancy only set her tips the more determinedly and went away to her room and sst and thought snd thought How covld the girls Imagine she would leave them? A couple of days after Bailie's wed ding, as the two remaining sisters sat together, Miss Nancy came In from her wonted walk to the postofflce. She went directly to Bertha and began at one In ft husky, strained voice. "Do yon remember what Sallle said about Mr. coming home toto mar "Tea, Indeed!" ejaculated both girls l Simultaneously. "Well?" Miss Nancy extended a small tremu lous band. An envelope lay tightly crushed within li. i "I have had a letter." i "He Is coming back? Oh, Auntie When?" I Miss Nancy crimsoned violently aVil ' made no answer. Bertha sprang up ; sxcitedly. "W hen is he corning, aur.tU '; i By the next steamer?" j "He does not mention any steamer." I "but when? When? How soon?" j Miss Nancy's lurad hung guiiity. She looked singularly distressed, and tho' 1 her lips moved, she did not speak. The girls hovered about her with a sudden realization of ali that the coming of ; this man meant to lh m. j "Oh, dear, dear Auntie Nan!" they ' cried. "What will we ever do wiihou; you! How can we give you up. ev mi ( to him?" I Miss Nancy's eyes filled. "Children." 1 she said, brokenly, "I shall never leave you. I could not. Do not fear. "You sweet, uns-Iiish soul!" Bertha exclaimed remoi sf uliy, "As if e would stand for one mom.-nt In the way of your happiness! For it is your happiness to marry him, is It not. Auntie Nan? "Oh. yes: 1 a mhappy, very happy! Miss Nancy said, softly, and broke into a low unexpected sob on ISertlia s necK, and refused to say anything more. But later, in the twilight hour of con fidences, as the three sat beside tne fire, Bertha and May broached the subject again, and, though Miss Nancy sat quite silent, neither confessing nor denying anything, they chatted on tin repulsed, giving their fancies free rein and indulging in every conceivable girlish speculation aa to Mr. Keene's looks and ways, and what he would do and say nhen he came. "You might at least read us a bit of bis lact letter to make us know him better," Bertha pleaded. "Oh. auntie dear. Just a line or two. Blease!" Miss Nancy turm-d scarlet. "No, child," she said firmly, and her eyes felt "Arthur's letters are for no one." It was the first time she had spoken of him by his Christian name alone. It brought him very near. May nestled up to her coaxingly. "Tell us what you said to him. auntie darling. That will do quite as well." "Will It?" Miss Nancy asked. "Well; I do not mind. I never wrote him so short a letter before. I said" she hesitated so long that hr audience b-pan to chafe. At last she went on slowly. "I .said' "I have been lonely for you all my life. If you do not come bark to me, I shall be lonely for you till I die.'" "Oh!" said Bertha, much disappoint ed. "Was that all? Did you say noth ing but that?" "Not another word." "How shabby of you!" expostulated Bertha. "Why I find ever so much more than that to say to Jack every time." Miss Nancy looked at her strangely. "You never said as much as that to Jack. You could not. You do not know what lonellnes Is." "Perhaps." liertha admitted, unwil lingly. "However, if Mr. Keene sails soon, he will not get that letter." MIks Nancy drew a quick, sharp breath, that sounded like a sigh. "No. he cannot get It. All the same, I had to write It. The words were burning tne." "Well, I suppose we must set at once about getting your wedding gown, said Bertha, practically. "Oh!" Miss Nancy exclaimed, almost In a fright. "My wedding gown?" She stood Irresolute under their reit erated assurances that she must be in readiness, dallying with the Idea and changing from white to pink like s bashful girl. Presently some thought struck her. She looked up diffidently. "Do you think it would do that it would not be foolish to get a white cne?" "Of course It must be white!" May responded with decision. "What else should It be? We will send to New York tomorrow for samples." So the material was selected and pur chased, a soft, rich, white silk over which Miss Nancy passed an appreci ative hand again and again. "It will be time enough to have It made when the day Is fixed," she said, and bore It away to her room with a look of mingled shame and triumph. Bertha smiled as the door closed. "That silk would suit me perfectly, you know. May. It i Just what I have always said 1 wanted. But really for Auntie Nan!" "And why not for Auntie Nan?" re torted May. "Are only young girls to have pretty things? Dear Auntie Nan! shall look her very sweetest on her wedding day." That day seemed nearing fast. Still Mips Nancy would give her nieces no clue as to when she expected Mr. Keene, declining to answer wherever the direct question was put to her. "Don't tease her!" May begged of Bertha at last. "Evidently she pre fers us not to know. She does not want us watching her." "Oh, as to that!" Brlha repflled. with a shrug of the shoulders. "I shall know Just by watching. I am absolute ly sure he is on the water now, she looks so restlers and disturbed, and keeps such track of the weather re ports and the shipping news. She told me last evening that there had been dreadful storms at sea lately. It Is to lie hoped nothing will happen to the poor old gentleman." "Take care!" May warned. "I hear her at the front door. She has been to the postofTlee." But Miss Nancy did not come where they were. Contrary to her wont, she passed on at once to ner room. Hours went by and still she remained upstairs until her nieces grew anxious and be gan to question what could keep her there so long. By dinner time she had still not apieared, and, when the maid brought word that Miss Ilathbone wished nothing, and the young ladies were to dine without her, Bertha and May glanced at each other In alarm, and, with a common Impulse, turned and flew up to her door. It was lock ed, but In response to their appeals It was at lsst thrown open. "Come In," Miss Nancy said. "I have something to tell you," She stood Just within the threshold as they entered. The shades had all been lowered. They could not see her features distinctly, but the excess of quiet In her voice Indicated a repressed agitation. May threw her arms about her. "Auntie, darling, not bad news! Don't say It Is bad news!" MImi Nancy stood so still within the encircling arms that May was more frightened that If she had fult her trem ble. "He Is dead, children, she said, slow ly. "Arthur Keene Is dead. That Is what I have to tell you." "Auntie! Auntie!" the girls cried oul together. But she went on steadily In curiously even mensured tones: "He was drowned. It was on the twenty-fifth. The captain of the steam er wrote me about It. There was a form A horrible storm. He was on deck. A wave struck him and swept him Into the aea. They stopped the hip. but It waa no use. He was lost." "Oh. auntlet Oh, auntie, darling!" the two girls cried again, and could ay no more, struck dumb In the face of such a tragady. They clung ta Mr closely, snd May burst Into tears. Mist Nancy disengaged herself and drew away, troubled by their distress. "Iiush, children. Don't cry. I did not think you would mind so much. I do not want you to mind. This Is my sor row. No one else loved him only 1. l.ven blsie forgot hi;n. But 1 loved him belter than all the world, better than even you love Jack better than any hut ty wife li.v s her huMja.id any vmere trie world ov-r. Hut he is dead, and everything ends there. Now leave me alone. 1 d not nt anything No. not even your sympathy. Forgive me, 1 am not ungrateful, but you can not understand. .No one can. 1-eav me. please, i want to be quite alone. So the girls crept may, grieved to the si ill for her, yet ab ished and somfwhai curt. W hy should she say t int they did not understand? To-y f. it that they did. i.Hte that evening Mi's Nancy Jit-d th-'irs. She was dresne diti -ji mourning, and over her arms Elie carii- d the while Kilk bought f.r her wedding gown. to ;, ihcr witti a quantity of exqioi-iie filmy I .. Ber tha and May hunlJ to met her. star- ie.l in s.chl f her black diers. their voung fa. . full of sympathetic cmo-U-n. But Mifs Nancy's face was calm, almost peaceful. Sh smiled at them quite natuiuily, and with something like a mbducd exultation In her bear ing she held out to Bertha the white lace and silk. "Take it my dear. I have no use for It. It shall make your wedding gown. This" site looked down at herself, "this Is something I put by when 1 left off crape for your mother. I shall never leave It off again." Bertha had no answer ready, and May could only clasp her aunt's hand tightly. Speech Is most fettered where symrathy is strongest. "I shall miss my letters so," Miss Nancy said a little tremulously. "You cannot think what It has been to me to write to him. It has eased me like the opening of a flood gate." The girls stood silent and constrain ed. Miss Nancy went to the hearth and stirred the fire Into a blaze, then turned to them, her slender, black robed figure seeming to grow taller and unfamiliar as the. flames leaped up be hind 11. "Come, let us sit down and talk. They came shyly and sat by her on either side, so hushed and grave that one would have thought the trouble th'-irs, Instead of hers. She took a hand of each and began to talk freely of the man that was dead, and of her love for him, and of how he had filled her heart to entirety from the day she had first known him. Once or twice her eyes moist-ned. but her voice remained firm and her manner sweet and composed, with a repressed some thing in It which seemed less grief than pride. It was as If her sorrow, instead of crushing her to the earth, had lifted her above the need of pity, and as she talked her nieces came to feci ob scurely that her love was even more to hrr than her lover, so that In loving him she was not wholly comfortless naw that she had lost him. "How she has adored him all these years!" Bertha said to May when the sisters were alone In their bedroom. "He must have been lovely, he looked so much like Jack. But I wish she would cry or something. Think how I should go on if It was Jack! It Is not natural for her to be so calm." "That Is because her love Is so great," answered wise May. "What Is beyond expression Is bound to be dumb." Nonsense!" Bertha rejoined, unbe lievingly. "She will probably break down by tomorrow. It Is not human for her to take It as she does." But Miss Nancy did not Create (town the next day or any time thereafter. and, apart from her mourning, which she never lightened, ner lire went on unchanged. Her nieces surprised her now and then sitting dreamily In the dusk, her slim hands folded, and she would glance up with a faint smile ana say: You cannot minis now i nii my letters." But they never found her in tears. And, though she sometime? mentioned her lover's name, llngerlng ly, as If the mere saying of It gave her pleasure, she never again could be In duced to speak of him at any length, seeming to have folded away his mem ory for good and all among the per fumed relics of her past. So Bertha's wedding day came anu went, and Miss Nancy and May were alone In the old home. What should I do wlthou' you. Auntie Nan!" May said time and again. You are become so mucn, to me, ana I need you so!" What should I have done If Mr. Keene had taken you away?" I would not have left you," miss Nancy always declared soberly. "You need not have been arraia. Ana sne never said any more. Bertha had gone abroad for her wed ding Journey, and soon after her re turn she and Jack came to mane a visit to Edgewood. She was In radi ant spirits, as befltetd a bride; never theless. May soon perceived mat mere was something on her sister's mind which she was waiting the opportunity to communicate, and the first moment that they were alone Bertha burst out eagerly. "Oh, May, I have tne siramresi ming to tell you the most Impossible thing! Whom do you think I met at Genoa a few nights before we salted? r.isic Brown! At least, she Is not Klele Brown now. She Is Elsie Vannlnl. It seems sne married an Italian, and has lived In Home ever since in Home, Mav!" May's eyes were with with Interest. "That hateful Elsie Brown who spoiled Auntie Nan's life? You met her?" "She Is not hateful, May. She Is ex actly what auntie said. She Is a sweet little woman, rather shallow and , af fected, perhaps, but she must have been tremendously pretty once. She sat opposite us at the table d'hote, snd kept staring at Jack all the time. After dinner she came up to us In the salon, and said he lokoed like some one she had once known and that we must ex cuse her for asking If he were any re lation -And Just Imagine my aston ishment when she said she meant Ar thur Keene!" "Bhe saw the likeness, too, then. Well 7" "Why, when she found I was auntie's was, and she became at once so utterly frank and unreserved that It alt came out." "What came out?" "One extraordinary thing after an other, and all without her suspecting a thing. Of course we were not going to give Auntie Nan away, even to her dearest friend, but Jack ssked such splendid questions. May, Mr. Keene never cared for Auntie Nan at all!" "Oh, Bertha!" "My dear, he was engaged to Elsie Brown before Auntie Nan ever saw him. That night she went to the gate to get the rose and found him snd Elsie there, was when she first learned of their engagement" "Was that It? Poor little auntie!" "Yes, I feel awfuly sorry for her. It was natural enough she should have cared for him. There waa no one, you know, In Carlisle, and, being so like Jack, of course, he waa charming. But, May, wait till yon hear! Tou will never, never believe It It la Incredible. Ar thur Ksene the maa Auntie Naa put en black for Isst year, died over ty years ago!" "Bettha!" "Yes! Ves! Yes! I know perfectly what I am saying. Jack has made pri vate Inquiries i..ce. and all that Elsie Vannlnl to'd us ta absolutely true. Ab solutely, lie went to Europe ou busi nefs, and he was coming home for the wedding, arid It a!l happened exactly as Aui.il .-aii told u it cid. 'ii.ere us a filgi.tful stoim and tie was washed overboard. It was on thn twenty-fifth of November. And the cartiii" V""3 a friend of Auntie Nan's people, and he wrote her the news so that the mlht break 1t gently to Kisle. Jul think of the shock to AuntK with no one to break It gently to her, and she loving him aa I do Jack!" May caught her t-ist-r by the arm. "But, Biitliii, who was that other Ar thur Keene th-n-the man who waa coining hon e a year ago to niairy Auntie Nan?" "There was no other Arthur Keene." "Bertha! Bertha! Auntie would never have lied so to us about It." "I know that. May. I cannot under stand it. But I have tried to r mem ber everything she told us. and I can't retail her ever paying anything posi tive to us. iKm't you know how she used to Just hint at things and leave us to piece tlicm out as we chose?" "But he wrote to her. Bertha." "Did he? She never showed us any. thing of his." "Why, she showed you his first let ter." . "May, Elsie Vannlnl wrote that let ter!" "Elsie Vannlnl!" "I discovered It In the simplest way in the world. She told me she bad written to auntie from Home a couple of years ago, and had never had any answer, and she haded me her address book to see If she had the right ad dress. And I could hardly credit my eyes. It was the Identical handwriting that I saw on that envelope a most curious, unusual sort of scrawl. Tsers was no possible mistaking it." "What can It all mean!" May ex claimed. In bewilderment. "Auntie Nan certainly wrote W him." "That is the puxzls of It, She wrote to him beyond a doubt. I never meant to spy on her, but one day I came up suddenly when she was writing, and I could not help seeing. I will not tell even you. May, how the letter be gan, except that 1 saw his name there; but poor old darling, It makes my heart ache to remember how scared and ashamed she was. and how quickly she covered up the sheet. Yet how could she write to the man if he were ai ; "Perhaps she wrote lust for the re lief of It. It made her so happy al ways. She probably destroyed th" let ters. You know we never saw her mall one. She always would go alone to tht postofflce." "Ves. but really I hardly know what to think. May. I cannot believe she made up the whole story Just to fool us girls with It That would not be one bit like her. One thing Is clear, tho , and that Is that Arthur Keene died when auntie was a girl, and that he was not her lover." 'He gave her his picture at least, Bertha." Not even that I told Elsie Van nlnl that I had seen his picture there seemed no harm In admitting Just that and she said that she gave It to Auntie Nan before she married. She had stacks of Mr. Keene's photographs, and she wanted the frame It was In. By the way. she said that Auntie Nsn never forgave her for marrying. Auntie thought she ought to have been true to Arthur's memory forever. It made a complete break In their friendship. They never corresponded afterward. It waa the merest accident her happen ing to write that one letter, snd. she was not surprised at receiving no re ply." 'I wonder If It could have been that letter that put It Into auntie's head," may said, thoughtfully "It must have brought the pat vividly before her, and perhaps It reminded her how much more faithful she had been than Elsie. Perhaps she began to pretend to her self that he had loved her. Instead of Elsie, and that he was coining back to her now, and her trying to make us think so may have been only a way of making It seem more real to herself. The letters she wrote were real enough, I am sure." 'I do not know, what to think." Bt- that repeated, helplessly. "But Jack fancies she has ended by actually be lieving It, Instead of pretending It, and he Is always right." 'I do not see how we are ever to know," sighed May "We cannot ask her." 'Decidedly not!" agreed Bertha, em phatically. Just there the dor opined, and Miss Nancy came In, sweet and smiling, with tender, bright eyes and a pale pink spot on each delicate cheek. 'I hated ta be so long away from you, Bertha, dear," she said brightly. "But Jack kept me. I never can resist Jin k. He has such a way w ith him, and he look so like Arthur. He might Imost. be Arthur." She sighed a soft, not unhappy sigh. and the sisters exchanged a quick glance. Bertha went to her and passed a loving arm about her. 'Auntie, darling. It Is good to see you again, and you look so well and so like yourself. Only" she hesitated then re sumed very gently, "shall you always wear this black gown? It Is so som ber! Shall you never take It off?" A vague distress clouded Miss Nan cy's placid face. She looked down at hrr dreits, clasping Its folds In both hands. "Jack asked me that Just now," she said. In a troubled voice. "It Is strange you should speak of It, too. I thought you understood. Jack asked if I would not leave It off. But I told him how happy It makes me to wear It no one knows how happy. It Is not a . sign of grief. It Is only a sign that I remember when every one else has for gotten. I am happier In the right to mourn for him than I have been all my life In loving him. I could not leave It off, for I shall remember always, you know. And I thought that you under stood. Still" Bhe paused and looked up with a sudden childlike humility and wilful ness. "I will do Just ss you lay. children. Do you want me to take this off?" There were tears In the eyes of both the girls. Bertha leaned over her and kissed her Impulsively, "No! no. Indeed! Wear It always. Auntie Nan, always. How could we think differently from Jack? We could not want you to leave It off, even If we did not quite understand." Chicago Chronicle: The circum stance that an army chaplain1, ordered to the Philippines, has got drunk nnd landed In the guardhouse at the Pie- tldlo of San Francisco Is cause for deep sorrow, yet tne circumstance Is not without its compensations. As the military career of the bibulous chap lain will undoubtedly be cut short by a court me rtlsl, a place will be left In the army for some one of the warlike Chicago brethren who have been howl ing death and destruction to l he trai torous Agutnaldo ever since the Phil ippine row begeit. Eet the militant parsons get their applications In earlv and avoid the rush. I