Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

2 For Woman’s Work. The Longest Day of the Tear. T was the longest day of the year; not hyperbole this time, but a > plain matter-of-fact. By hours and minutes it was the longest i day that would come to the dwellers of earth, until another twelve month had passed by. I leaned out of the window and enjoyed the fragrance of the roses. I was thinking of the longest day of two years before—of how dismally, tragically long it really was. That day was calendared in red for me, but not in the accepted sense: it was red, malignantly, hideously red, writ in blood, in fact; for I fought all through that day—quarreled and fought bitterly: fought, bled, and— died, I think. Os course it was with Julian! Who else was ever known to ruffle me so? Who else was ever such a blister to draw the temper out of one? Things came to a crisis that day, and our engagement was broken. It was by this very window, smelling the roses, that we parted forev er. The perfume of roses seems to stifle me; and yet it is my favorite habit to sit in reverie beside this window,looking out upon the garden. This day I was sitting thus, my thoughts a-wing, far into the wild spaces of the devouring past, when—the door-bell rang. I answered it. It was Cousin Emily’s man, Benson, bearing a note. She wanted the book I promised, the umbrella left behind the settee, and a pat tern. When I had sent Benson away, I sat down again to read the postscript. It could bear a second reading; and it did not take a wise man from the East to discover in it the object of the communication. “So Julian is back! Have you had a glimpse of him? No sign of the cypress about him. Seems to be bearing his troubles like a stoic.’’ How like Cousin Emily that! She could not resist the stab. Cy press indeed! And why that venom? I have no quarrel with her; right well do I know why, and modesty alone forbids me to say. But why I should be held responsible for her daughter Augusta’s avoirdu-* pois and freckles, remains with the Sphinx. So Julian was back! back again in the flesh; and good healthy flesh too, it seemed. But what was that to me —whether in his flesh, or in his skeleton? He was nothing to me; never could be again. And yet the thought that he was in the city once more did give me a breathless sensation. After two years! I wondered if he would look, the same—do, and be the same old Julian. I wondered how he would meet me; speak, or—what? I wondered, too, what had brought him back, now that his uncle had moved away, and his interests were elsewhere. Busi ness, of course—that hateful, hideous old bug-bear! Business or pleas ure bent—it remained that he was back, to see and be seen. He would see me, and I—l would have to see him. How would we meet? For me, as though I had seen him every day for fifty years I would only glance at him indifferently and say, with cold politeness: “Good morning, Mr. Fletcher,’’ or, “Good eve ning, Mr. Fletcher,” as the case might be. My reflections at this point were disturbed by the “whir” of a bi cycle gliding by on the asphalt street. I looked out quickly and caught a glimpse of the rider ere the corner of the house obstructed the view: then I ran across the hall to inspect him more extensively from the windows on the other side. I knew—yes I knew I could not have mistaken that figure. Nobody else sits his wheel just like Julian. It was Julian! And the old bicycle—l recognized it, too. Who would not? It had become an antiquity; deserved to be in a sacred crypt. Dear old bicycle, how I bless it! It had been with us upon so many glorious jaunts!—for we were inveterate riders in the good old days of riding. Dear, dead days! dead and buried in the dull and voiceless past! It is terrible to think of dead days. To think that we have only a precious few days allotted to us, and to know that we have squan dered some of the best, the very best of all! Oh, those dear, dead days' Oh, those excursions into the country, the feasts at farm-houses; the long fingerings in scented woods! I grew sick thinking of it all! ’ In the meantime, Julian was speeding along by a ed way. Was he indifferent? Why seek that old-time try sting way? Was he happy? Os course he was happy! What have men to do with dead days, haunting memories? Creature pleasures are all that they desire or require. One pretty face to love and kiss, the same as an other. He had forgotten! Once we fancied we were all the world to each other; lived in a fool’s paradise. But Satan contracted a habit of intruding into para dise, beginning with Eden. Soon our love began to take a zigzag course. Perhaps we were over-fond. Julian was absurdly jealous, and I was not disposed to take dictation meekly. But—what is the use to drag back over the bloody battle-ground! We parted. I permitted him to go away, believing me to be soul less and heartless. I thought he would come back soon, to beg for giveness, to be forgiven; but he never came. After all, I knew it was for the best. I never could be yoked in and Julian was an odious Othello. How obnoxious to have a man WOMAN’S WORK. prying after one all the time! Insupportable! I leaned out the window; and leaning thus, and smelling the roses, it came to me that it was the anniversary of—of the longest day in the year! Just then I received an inspiration from— below I think! I opened the escritoire, found my purse, and took therefrom a silver dollar. Down upon the floor I sat and tossed it. Heads I would, tails I would not. Heads! I skipped up, and touched the bell. “Blake,” I said, when that automaton showed his face. ‘‘l want my automobile in stantly; Mr. Robert came in with it a moment ago. Blake, hurry— one time in your life.” I flew up to my room, crammed myself into my auto-costume, pinned on my hat securely, adjusted an adorable fly-away filmy veil, and—oh! I did wish there was some one to say how well I looked. Father gave me my Auto-run-about on my nineteenth birthday, and it was truly a dream: I felt that I was an irresistible sight in it. He could not know, or guess— was in the ordinary course of things for one to take a spni such a glorious afternoon! I would pass him with a surprised but coldly polite bow that would reduce him to pulp;' and he would be seeing me again, at my very best. Every inch of ground I passed over I knew was taking me that muchjiearer to him; and how the inches were flying behind! I‘was just reaching the edge of the woods when I espied him in the act of turning around He seemed a little speck at the end of the straight, white gravel road. I was thrown into an instant panic, I was overwhelmed with an idea that had come to me too late. vVhat if he should think that I had followed him to —to—? I grew horrified at the thought! This idea soon engulfed me —went to my head and blinded me; to my finger-tips and unnerved me. What if I should lose control—? On he came, nearer—relentlessly nearer. I would turn back, I de termined instantly upon it. I could not face him with that hideous thought in my mind. I was passing the cemetery wall; five minutes would bring me along side of him. He would conclude by my act of turning round in his very face that the meeting was wholly accidental, that I desired to avoid it; and yet again, suppose he should fancy that I lacked the courage to face him? I could not arrive at a decision; my mind was a maelstrom. Perhaps he would laugh at me: boast that I had forced myself—! The ground seemed rising up to slap me in the face. Just here my automobile took the matter in its own hands—out of my paralyzed ones; veering over towards the stone wall the machine proceeded to charge it, lunging against it violently, flinging me promptly and insolently out into the grass and small shrubbery by the roadside —while it raged and sputtered and scolded against the impregnable defense of stone. I lay there and tried to die. I tried my best to force my spirit out of my body; but it refused to budge. I tried then, at least, to compel unconsciousness. I had never fainted in my life, and never will. However, I got up a respectable substitute. Julian leaped from his bicycle and sprang to me, in dreadful alarm. He had probably rec ognized me a mile away. When I remained limp and voiceless, he called in agony upon my name. Then he caught me up, supporting my head while he felt my pulse and heart. He thought it was the end of me, but I thought it expedient to open my eyes. How I bless ed the dear agony I saw in his! I said: “Oh, what has happened! and how can you be here? It’s not serious, I think. It is my head, mainly. Do you think I could have cracked it? It feels cracked. Oh, please don’t worry about me. I feel a bit shaky, that’s all. lam sure I have all myself in tact.” But I was humiliated! I was desolated! Soon his voice and manner became cruelly contained and distant, as though it had come in his way to serve a stranger! I nearly suffocated. Then the terri ble idea came to him! I knew it the instant it caught in his brain. I thought I saw the phantom of a smile upon his hard mouth, and I felt that I hated him bitterly. I determined to brazen it out. I sat up glibly and endeavored to smooth my riotous locks while he restrained and righted my auto. I said: “You cannot think how surprised I am to see you here—l thought you away out in the wild, woolly west. Have you been chasing buffaloes or Indians or digging gold?” ’ 6 He came oyer at last and stood looking down upon me like a lean ing Tower of Pisa, and asked grimly: . Is this the climax of a farce? I believe it! Have you led up to this. Is it another of your wanton cruelties? Are you insatiable ? Have you not wounded me enough, that you wish to stick in another dagger? Am I not odious in your sight? Tell me, Helen, why did you do this? You sought this interview-you did! And to what end? Pshaw! I wil! not believe in you. You are a heartless, vain coquette! And yet I have been weak-minded, and poor-spirited enough to come back to look on your face again! Helen, tell me the truth: why did you come after me to-day?” 3 Tt t l i m i y j OUI g °? d to heai ; him speak so savagely. I began to cry and I looked up at him, so big and masterful above me. Instant -7 sobbeT me ’ taklng iU hiS armS ’ kissin S awa Y the tears. “Oh, Julian I- acted upon a wild impulse. But lam not sorry or mortified now. I could not do without you another day. Do you re member the date? Did you think of that? Two years ago, this day my heart was broken!” 5 ’ y ’ “Mine too, dear. I did remember the day. I chose it to come to “oh W wXnTi g ’ s i day closed ’ to try my fate a & ain -” Oh, we Will have reason always to remember the longest day in the year Dear, dearest, I have been vain, and foolish—forgive Ue have both suffered! Perhaps it is the best; we are not boy and girl any longer, but man and woman, and we know what love is.” Bessie May Montague. SEPTEMBER, 1904.