Newspaper Page Text
2
XV.
NE afternoon late in November Dr.
Redmond locked the door of his office
down town, and walked home: because
he wanted to think, and besides there
was a tang in the atmosphere which
made motion agreeable. He took side
streets, not because in his present mood
he was in sympathy with human
interest studies, but because they were
O
more likely to be free of noise. He saw the blue
stretch of the wintry sky above the half bare limbs
of the trees on the sidewalk, and the red Hare of
the sunset between the houses on the opposite side
of the street. Once when his steps rustled through
a dry drift of fallen leaves, it gave him a boyish
thrill of delight, which made him smile.
He noted the pedestrains who passed him, the
white capped nurse with her baby charge well
wrapped in scarlet in a go-cart, a tired collector in
a brown, shabby overcoat who walked with dragging
steps, followed by the suggestive antithesis of a
motor car full of gaily attired women, which in
turn was trailed by an ice wagon and a coal dray,
both driven with leisurely contempt of time. Nothing
escaped the vivid glance of the blue eyes of the
distinguished looking young man, but being ac
customed to the swift panorama of the streets
nothing really impressed him because he was
struggling with a mental problem of his own.
When he arrived at home he let himself in with
a latch key, and. after divesting himself of his hat
and overcoat, he went straight to the back parlor
and sat down. After he had read all that was of
interest to him in the evening paper, he tossed it
on the center table, and glancing up at the portrait
of the Violin Lady over the mantel, he sighed, and,
getting up he began to walk up and down the room
with long, echoless steps. The gong sounded, alter
a time, for supper, but the butler had to remind
him personally, before he noticed it, his mental
trance was so profound.
Reece climbed the steps to Sylvia’s sitting room
that night, with a definite purpose in his heart.
He had seen that slender, recumbent figure with the
sad, fathomless brown eyes, in the deep invalid's
chair, all day. It had haunted him like a pathetic
vision, through all the practicalities of business
hours. The brief display of spirit, which the
return of Rodney Hill's letters and jewels, and the
dictation of her final word to him, had inspired, had
apparently left his patient as lifeless as ever. And
he knew, none better, that she could not last the
winter out, unless her present mental attitude were
radically changed. Life must speak to her as Mrs.
Browning says, “in some divine apocalyptic voice,
and awaken her to action. But what could be so
subtle and far reaching as to arouse her? What
kind of light could touch the blind eyes of her
soul? What species of inspiration limitless and
tender enough to awaken the dead of heart?
Sylvia was lying on the old fashioned blue sofa
tonight, her white wool house dress showing con
spicuously among the many hued silk cushions.
Reece turned up the gas, and sitting down beside
her, he took her hand and inquired cheerily:
“Well, how goes it, little girl, how is my best
loved patient tonight?'’
“Just as usual', thank you, Reece, Sylvia
answered, after a moment’s hesitation, in a colorless
voice.
“And that means what?’’ Reece inquired with
an amused glance. “Have you read the papers
or played the violin for Aunt Lila today ?
Sylvia drew her hand away from him, with a
degree of petulance.
“Don’t be absurd, Reece. I could not play the
violin, if the fate of a Nation depended on the
drawing of the bow.' ’
“Shall I tell you why, Sylvia?’’
“If you wish.”
THE MISSION GIRL
By Odessa Strickland Payne,
Author of "Psyche, ” "Esther PerralVs Experiment,” Etc,
The Golden Age for August 27, 1908.
“You do not take a particle of interest,” Dr.
Redmond returned decisively, but still with a note
of tenderness in his voice, “in anything under
heaven. ’ ’
‘ * Reece! ”
“It is true, little girl, absolutely true. But
listen, 1 am not sitting in judgment on you. Only
1 do wish that you would tell me what thought it
is that is blotting out the sun, in your mental
universe? In other words, Sylvia, what is killing
you ? ’’
The tears gathered in her beautiful eyes, and, as
they began to overflow on her colorless cheeks,
Reece took his own handkerchief and wiped them
away, with a tenderness that was like a caress.
“There, little girl, don’t cry,” he said, using
quite accidentally the words of James Whitcomb
Riley’s immortal song.
Sylvia finished the quotation, in a voice whose
intonation wounded like a dagger-stroke, so vividly
did both recall the Kings’ musical, and all that had
happened since, like a fulfillment of the song’s
prophecy:
“They have broken your heart, I know,
And the rainbow gleams of your youthful dreams
Are things of the long ago.”
“Tell me, Sylvia,” Reece urged, after a time of
silence, “it is not a question of Rodney Hill now,
that is a dead issue? But what is it that stalks
like Banquo’s ghost through the corridors of your
brain, and will not down at your bidding?”
“It is the deep humiliation, Reece,” she answer
ed, looking at him with shining, dilated eyes, “which
I have had to endure. Do you think that I have
not guessed at how I have been discussed, as the
girl who waited in bridal robes for the groom who
never came? Do you suppose for a moment that
all those guests who were here that night, have
shown the same delicacy and reticence about explot
ing the subject as the members of my immediate
family?”
“No; Sylvia,” Reece returned quietly, “I am too
experienced to indulge the delusion. But all the
world knows now that Rodney Hill has been try
ing to renew his suit, by telegrams and letters
galore. Lyman Hale assured me that he could not
have a more congenial task than to disseminate the
news. ’ ’
“Still, that does not alter the horror of that
fatal night, I shall never get over it, Reece, my
confidence in man, and my faith in God, has been
terribly shaken, if not destroyed.”
“Why God, Sylvia?” the question fell very
tenderly on the silence.
“Because if he is such a loving Father,” she
said, with a stress on the adjective, “as we have
been taught to believe, it seems to me He might
have prevented the catastrophe, which brought such
sorrow and grief to me.”
“So that is the root of the trouble, Carissima?”
“Yes,” she replied mournfully, “I do not
believe that God loves me.”
“It was Rodney Hill's sin of intemperance, at
the wrong psychological moment, little girl, which
hurled you down from the heights of happiness,
and nothing else. So, 1 cannot see how,” Reece
went on in a philosophic tone, “you can hold the
great Father responsible. He is not the Authoi
of evil, and he could not take away Rodney Hill s
moral right of free agency, without infringing on
His own law. But grant that He allowed the
sorrow to overtake you, although he did not ordain
it, still, it is no evidence that He did not love yon.
For we are expressly taught in His word that those
whom he loves he chastens. ’
Silvia re-arranged the sola pillows, and, sitting
up among their rainbow colors, she easily gave the
suggestion of a white flower in a variegated calyx.
Suddenly, she threw out one hand with a gesture
which recalled the charm of other days. “Reece”
she said, with a stronger vibration in her musical
voice, “there is another calamity I must face if
I live.”
“What?”
“You know that I have lost all my money, except
a small house and lot which my grandmother left
me. It rents for the munificent sum of $lO a
month, scarcely enough to pay my washerwoman.
So you see 1 am practically penniless, and, as
soon as I get strong enough 1 must find something
to do.”
“The idea, Sylvia, when you know how rich Aunt
Lila is, and that she regards you as a daughter.’
“Well, granting that is true, in a sense,” she
answered gravely, “still'you know I have got to do
something with my life —or die.”
“What is to hinder you from taking up the old
regime?” Dr. Redmond inquired with darkening
eyes. “It seems to me that this palatial residence
needs a girl to brighten its atmosphere as much as
any other home. It has been like a barracks since
the Violin Lady resigned from her position of
chief entertainer.”
“It is very kind of you, Reece,” his cousin
replied with a sad little smile, “to say so, but all
the same, I can never take up my old life again. If
I stayed here, I should be compelled to go out into
Society, and that I will never consent to do any
more. ’ ’
“Why?”
“Because the artificialites do not appeal to me.
I have had my day in Vanity Fair, and paid for it.
And besides some other man might fancy himself
interested in me, and, at present, every thought
connected with love and marriage is abhorrent to
me. When 1 dress again as a bride, the stars will
grow cold.”
“Sylvia, don’t,” the young physician lifted his
hand warningly, “because one man proved un
worthy, don’t visit his sins on the entire sex. It
is natural, I know, for you to take a proud woman’s
point of view for a time, but your culture is too
broad, and your nature too intrinsically sweet, for
you to rashly vow away the most blissful right of
your young womanhood. Wait for Time’s explana
tion, little girl, wait. 4 The night shows us stars
we never saw by day.’ ”
Sylvia got to her feet and began to slowly walk
the floor. She held herself gracefully erect, and,
as the light glinted on the gold-brown hair, and
the changed expression in the dark eyes, Reece drew
a long sigh. His statue was beginning to breathe.
The real Sylvia was emerging from out the long,
dark night of her despair.
“Reece,” she said at last, “there is just one
thing left out of the chaos which has overwhelmed
me, and which makes me willing to endure, suffer,
and strive on.”
“What is that, Sylvia?”
“Your friendship,” she replied, as she turned
towards him her statuesque face, faintly aglow
above the soft folds of her white dress, her deli
cate hands clasped lightly in front of her.
“I want to be worthy of your regard,” she went
on, in a low musical voice, “for surely no cousin
ever gave to another more unselfish and disinter
rested devotion than you have given to me. I
know that I have accepted it as a queen might, as
my right ami due, but my sorrow has at least
taught me how to value it. And when I go out into
the world to make my living, as 1 must, 1 shall
carry away with me the memory of an example that
will hold me true to the hard right, in the darkest
day the future may have in store for me.”
Reece rolled the invalid chair quietly to her side.
“Sit down, Sylvia,” he commanded, “and don’t
talk any more tonight about leaving home, if you
care at all for my peace of mind. Later, if it is
(Continued on Page 7.)
