Evening Republican, Volume 14, Number 111, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 May 1910 — AMBER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AMBER

At the sound of a footfall in the •erridor he laid down his pen and leaned wearily back in his big armchair. Presently a hand thrust back the curtain from the doorway and his wife entered. She was gowned for the •vesting in her favorite color—dull yellow. There were diamonds at her throat and in her golden-brown hair. She looked radiaht wTfff'pleasure. ‘’Shall I do?” she asked, coming forward and leaning upon the desk with her hands, palms downward. He inspected her deliberately—critically, she thought “You will do well,” he said at last. •What is it to-night, Amber?” " ’Faust.’ I am going with the Kendalls. Lawrence— —” He took up his pen with a slight gesture of impatience that effectually silenced her. Half the joy died out of her face. She stood a moment watching him as he wrote; then she went round and laid her hand timidly on his shoulder. “John ” wistfully. She hesitated, hoping that he would look up. or say something more; but he did neither. "I—l am going now. Good-by.” - “Good-by.” It was the tone, not the words, that brought a sudden dimness into her •yes. She lingered still with her hand on his shoulder. Then she slowly removed it and stole out of the room. As the curtain ceased swaying behind her the pen dropped and John Sarles covered his face with his hands. He heard a carriage stop at the curbing, and the front door close with a bang. He heard a man’s voice and a man’s gay laugh—both Lawrence Kendall's; then there was a rumble of wheels and he lifted his head with a Jerk. Something like a sob escaped him. "Lawrence,” she had said. It had come to that, then! Lawrence! John Sarles knew him well—knew how his handsome face and winning smile endeared him to the hearts of women—how he was sought after, petted, admired. Ah, well, it was something, after all, to be bom with a handsome face and straight, strong limbs. John Sarles looked bitterly at the crutch leaning against the chair and thought because of it life had withheld much of its sweetness from him. Wealth and even a powerful intellect which put him in touch with the brightest thinkers of the day failed to make up to him for thatHe had been on the point of sinking into the self-imposed isolation of a proud, morose nature when Amber •ame — Amber, the little daughter of his only intimate friend, who, dying, had intrusted her to his care. Soon the music of her laughter had chased away the ghostly echoes from the lonely old house and the light of her happy eyes brightened every room. Her books strewed the tables, her flowers filled the long unused vases, her gowns made bits of color against the dark walls as she flitted up-stairs and down. -

Gradually all became changed because of her. New furniture replaced the old, new carpets covered the floors, the conservatory blossomed with rare plants and a grand piano lit up a dark recess of the library with its polished ivory and rosewood. By and by the little girl became a maiden to whom every door was epen and whose smile was a favor which men considered as well-nigh precious, and all the time that Amber was growing winsome and sweet and graceful John Sarles was growing old and wrinkled and gray. But his was as young as ever, and he loved Amber with all the pent-up force of his nature and he suffered agonies because of that love, feeling that she could never, never be his. One day a handsome boy of good family came to ask him for Amber’s hand. Poor John! He gave his concent and his blessings as well. What else could he do, not knowing but that Amber loved him? And while the boy was pleading his cause John sat in Ms study with as bitter a heartache as ever man had. Presently the door opered. but be

didn’t look up. And then came a sweet, sobbing voice and the pressure of two soft and warm arms about his neck from behind. "Oh, guardy, guardy, are you tired of me that you try to get rid of me so!” He was suffocated with surprise, and joy and terror, but he managed to draw her around where he could see her face, which was rosy with blushes and persistently averted. "Amber!” he cried. “Tired of you! Want to get rid of you. Amber!” And then, reassured by his tone, §he burst out, passionately"Yes, you must be, else ybu’d never have sent him to me, when you know I hate him- hate them all but you!” He drew her down on his knee at that and held her close in his trembling arms. His face was near hers, but he did not kiss her. He could only look at the sweet, wet (fyes and childlike mouth, the round, soft cheek and gold-brown hair, wondering, doubting, hoping all at once —he could not have told which the most of the three. That was two "years ago—two blessed years of such happiness that they seemed to him like a long, beautiful dream. Amber loved him and Amber was his wife. But of late a shadow had fallen between them —the. shadow of Lawrence Kendall. The fear that had numbered John's heart when he first beheld the young man’s admiring gaze upon his wife had ripened into fierce jealousy. He had grown cold and austere in his manner, causing Amber many tears and much worriment. Once he had been positively harsh toward her. What else had he been to-night? And all the time his proud, sensitive nature was suffering to Its utmost capacity. Dear little Amber! He could feel the tears in her eyes and the quiver of her mouth, though he could not see them. The wistful pleading in her voice had touched him to the quick. How he longed to snatch her in his arms—crumpling the dull yellow silk, if he must, and ruffling the shiny hair, for she used never to complain—and kiss her over and over and tell her

how much he loved her, and how sorry he was to hurt her by word or by look. But no—his pride, his indomitable pride, restrained him, and he had let her go with her whole evening spoiled because of it. Ah, just wait till she came in, tired and cold and sleepy! Then he would make all right. She would forgive him—of course she would, the darling. And they would be happy again as they had not been for weeks, sitting by the Are together, she in the big crimson chair and he on an ottoman at her side, just where he could touch her hand or cheek and kiss her when he chose. The firelight would dance on her hair and bring out the soft color in her face and she would laugh and smile In the old joyous way. What a fool he had been —how cowardly and unreasonable, to doubt his innocent darling even for one moment. It was 2 o’clock and Amber ought to have been home an hour ago. What was it made John start and tremble and pale as he glanced at the clock? Were his fears confirmed? Had his doubts truths? Hark! Was not that the sound of a carriage pausing at the curbing? What occasioned this unusual con-, fusion in the hall below? John Sarles seized his crutch and limped a few paces toward the door, but stopped as it was flung open and the figure of an old sertdng man appeared on the threshold. “Sir ” he began. 1 __ John Sarles’ lips moved, but no sound passed them. "Sir, I have come with sad news for you. There has been an accident — the horses ran away—and Miss Amber ’’ He caught John as he reeled and fell and, answering the mute, awfhl appeal of those agonizing eyes, he concluded— “ls hurt seriously, but not fatally. They have just brought her home.” Three months afterward, when bursting buds and freshly-sprouting grass proclaimed that spring was at hand, Amber was carried into her husband's study and propped up by pillows and cushions on the soft there. Her face had lost its roundness and its dainty color and the beautiful browngold hair was cut close te her head. There was a great bunch of yellow roses .on the table at her side, and she touched them lovingly, knowing John was watching her, and that he had placed them there. Presently he came and sat down on the edge of the sofa—all their differences had long since been made up—and took her hands la his and held

thbia tenderly against his mouth. There were tears in his eyes, though Amber’s were clear enough. "You dear old John,” she said smiling, "I believe you feel worse about it than I do.” “Well, you needn’t, you silly boy.” She was silent a moment, and then she said, musingly. **Dq. you know, I believe I’m half glad ” “Oh, my darling, to be lame all your life!" "Yes; for, don’t you see, we shall sympathize with one another more than we ever have? And, oh, John——” "Yes, Amber.” “I never realized before how patient and dear you until I was hurt I think I love you better than ever, if that can be, and I am sure—quite sure—sure, quite sure, that this has been a blessed lesson for both of us, aren’t you?” And John, in his newer and cleares wisdom, dared not deny it—Grit.

“ARE YOU TIRED OF ME?”