Jasper County Democrat, Volume 2, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 December 1899 — BETWEEN TWO LOVES [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

BETWEEN TWO LOVES

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XVIII. j The day and the hour arrived. Sir ♦Basil was to go with them as far as (Dover, and see them safely on board. They were all four to start by the mididay train from Arley to London. i Leah had measured her strength that jmorning, and found it rapidly failing. ! "I coulji not live through two more ♦days of it,” she said. “Thank heaven, it is almost over.” i She was passive, while her maid took jail the pains she could to hide the shrinking of the graceful figure, the pallor of ithe beautiful fate. She must keep up appearances while she was in England, among those who knew her; but, when •he was across the sea, she could give way, she could droop and. die as she ,would—but not here. She bade farewell to the grand old ihome where she had been so utterly, but ,falsely happy. She stood for some time on the terrace where the passion flowers (grew —the spot where she had seen her .lover first, and where her heart had gone out to him. She kissed the bare brown .branches. They would live again; they would be covered with green leaves and •tarry flowers when leaves and flowers should gladden her eyes' no more. She stretched out her hands with a great cry when she took her last look round the room where she had spent such happy 3>ours. All earth and air seemed burning fire. Oh, for rest, for change, for the coldness even of the grave! i Those who saw Miss Hatton’s face when she left Brentwood never forgot it. ’ It waa a strange journey to. Dover. Sir 'Arthur was the only one who talked. jHettie avoided either looking at or speaking to Sir Basil, and Leah could have 'laughed in bitter amusement at the •eene. Sir Arthur spoke of his nieces' return, of the marriage, of Glen, of Basil In Parliament, and saw nothing wrong. They stood together on deck at last, • blue sky above them, the sun shining on the white cliffs of Dover and on the sea, which was almost as smooth as a mirror. Sir Arthur took Hettie to the other •Me of the vessel. “They will have so much to say to each other; lovers always have. We will leave them alone, Hettie.” 80 they stood side by side, the deathly pallor of Leah’s face hidden by her veil. iA terrible calm had fallen over her. She loved Sir Basil still with her whole heart: •he could have knelt down there, and have covered his hands with burning kisses and burning tears. She held them for a moment in a close grasp, while she looked into his face for the last time. The solemn shadow of eternity lay over her. Then there came a shout from the sailora. All was in readiness; those who ♦were for shore must leave. The moments “were numbered; her eyes never left him, iher hand still held his. “I must go,” he said. “Good-by, Leah.” |He bent down and kissed her lips. He etarted to find them so cold. “Good-by,” he repeated. “A pleasant, prosperous Journey, Leah, and a happy return.” “Good-by, Basil; good-by, my love,” she •aid; and the next moment she was look,'ing over the waters alone. I 'He was gone. She felt that she would never see him again in this world. The >sky, the sea, the white cliffs were whirling round her. She was glad to raise her veil and let the sea breeze play upon her face. She was free now; she need no ,longer keep up appearances. She had looked her last upon him. The long strain, the long tension was ended. The calm plash of the waves seemed to cool the fever that had laid waste her life; all earth and air were no longer burning fire. The rest of the journey was like a dream to her, and she never woke from it until •rhe stood in the salon of the villa at Mentone, and saw the duchess regarding her with tearful eyes. “Great heaven,” she cried, "this is not Leah; this is a shadow! I thought it was Hettie who had been ill!” “So it was. I have not been ill," said • voice which the duchess scarcely recognised as Leah’s. “I am well; but my journey has tired me.” “What can be the matter? What has gone wrong in the girl's life?” thought the kindly woman. “The only thing that •he reminds me of is a flower broken by a tempest.” There was in Mentone a celebrated English physician, Dr. Evan Griffiths—a skillful, prosperous man, very popular among the invalids and the English at Mentone. He lived with his mother in a pretty little villa. Popular as he was, he had never married. It was said that he bad no time for wooing. One evening as Dr. Griffith sat alone in his study the servant announced a young lady. She had sent no card and had given no name, but looked very ill. At first the doctor felt annoyed. He had no liking for mysterious patients, and felt it hard that he could not have one eigar in peace. , “Show the lady in here,” he said impatiently.

But his impatience died away when a tall, closely veiled woman came in and Stood silently before him. * She did not speak until the servant had closed the door; then she raised her veil so that he could see her face: and he was startled by its delicacy and wonderful beauty. • “I know that I am calling at an unusual , time," she said. “1 thank you much tor seeing me. I have a question to ask you—a question of life or death. WHI you answer it ? ' Ttf I can,” said the doctor. "Does it Coapern yourself?” , ’ *Jtes,” she replied. A|kd then he felt that death, and not life, would be the answer. If he could lodge Xrom her face. ! ' -y/- CHAPTER XIX. ;■ Dr. Griffiths placed a chair for his beautiful, young patient, and, standing * by the We, waited until she spoke. Do -people,” she said, abruptly,, “ever dtwu* 4B broken heart F’ “I have never known a ease," answerad tie doctor, “though I have heard and ■nd suciMinnring.”

“Some month* since,” she said, looking at him with calm, grave eyes, “I was as strong as anyone could wish to be. I had splendid health and a perfect constitution. Now I have hardly, strength to live, and everyone thinks I am in danger.” “There must be a reason for It,” remarked the doctor, quietly. “There is a reason, which I will tell you, and I want you to judge if it will kill me. I have had within the last two months a trouble—a terrible trouble — one that I have had to bury Ln the depths of my heart. I could not speak of it. or hint it, or place confidence in any living creature concerning it. I have shut my secret in my heart, and it has been preying upon it. It has eaten my heart away. The constant repression, the desperate efforts I have made to seem as usual, have been too much for me; and now I feel sure that I have some affection of the heart which will soon put an end to my life.” He began to understand something of the case. “Do you want to live?” he asked briefly. • “No; I want to die,” she answered. Then came a string of questions, all »f which she answered candidly enough. The doctor knit his brows, and was silent for some time; then he listened to the action of the heart and grew graver still. “I think,” he said, “that you have always had a great tendency to heart disease; and now, l am sorry to say, it is a confirmed case.” Her face brightened, and shq murmured a few words to herself which he did not hear. “Tell me, doctor," she asked, “how long do you think I have to live?” “Not long,” was the grave reply. “In a great measure it lies' in your own hands. If you could get rid of this care; if you could prevent yourself from brooding over it; if you could rouse yourself, you might live a little longer.” “I could not,” she said; “the restraint has been too great and too persistent. Will you tell me what the end will be like?” “I wish you would not ask me,” he answered, looking pitifully at the fair face. “It will be the greatest service you can render me,” she said. “It matters so little to me. If I have some months to lave, I shall carry out an intention which I have formed; if not, I shall forego it. Tell me, doctor.” “You will not live for months,” he said —“the greater the pity.” “The greater the joy!" she cried. “Will it be weeks?” “Weeks in all probability,” he replied. “And the end?” she asked again. “The end will be sudden and peaceful,” he answered. “It may be at any time. Any sudden sorrow or joy might prove fatal. Calmness, peace, resignation, are your greatest helps. Poor child,” he said, in an outburst of sudden tender pity—"poor child! Life has been hard for you!” “Very hard,” she declared. “I wish,” he said, “that you would follow my advice. I could not save your life, but I might prolong it.” "No,” she replied. “I am staying here at Mentone; I shall die here, and, when I die they will lie sure to send for you. You will not say that you have seen me?” “I will not,” he promised. There followed two quiet, peaceful and happy weeks, of which Hettie liked to think afterward. It struck her at times that Ijeah looked weak and ill, but she made no complaint. Letters and newspapers came every day from England, giving them all the news of Glen and of Brentwood—above all of the election; Hettie enjoyed talking about it with the duchess, but Leah never uttered a word. She had made up her mind to the greatest sacrifice any woman could make—she would die and give no sign. News Game from England that Sir Basil had been returned member for the county. The Duke and Duchess were delighted. Hettie was pleased, and talked more about it than she talked about anything else. Leah said little, but ahe looked happier. The next day came a letter to say that, the election being over, Sir Basil and the general hoped to run over to Mentone, even if they were able to remain only a week. When Loafi read that letter, her face grew white. Leah went to her room; the sun shone bright and warm, and the air was full of the peYfume of flowers. She was tired with a peculiar feeling of longing for rest which was new to he?, and her senses had been suddenly sharpened. She could see further; she could hear with almost painful distinctness. She had a letter to write, but the feeling of fatigue was so strong upon her that she was hardly inclined to commence her task. “I will do' it at once, and then it will not trouble me,” she said to herself. She sat for some time with the pen in her hand. It was the one great temptation of her life. Should she tell him or not? When she came to die, should she feel any the happier that *she had left him with this sting in his breast, this memory which would always be to him one of bitter pain? It would be ample vengeance. If he knew that her unhappiness had killed her. he could never be happy again. He was honorable and sensitive; the chances were that if he knew the truth he would never marry Hettie. It was a great temptation. Her heart throbbed with it, her whole frame trembled; and then with a supreme effort she conquered it "■ Swiftly, suddenly, as had been foretold, death came to her, without pain, without bitterness, without agony. The pen dropped from the white fingers; her head fell upon the paper. She died with a smile on her lips. There was not even's spasm of pain, no faint murmur or cry. The broken heart had stopped at last. With the wind that chanted a requiem among the.great trees her xml rose to heaven and the body left

behind grew roM and beautiful in the embrace of death. CHAPTER XX. Bo they found her, dead. The duchess was almost frantic. She refused to believe that Leah was dead. It was utterly impossible, she declared. She called for brandy, wine, hot water—every possible restorative. She would not see the mark of death on the beautiful face. She sent for doctors, and one of the first who came was Dr. Evan Griffiths. He recognized her at once. This was the despairing girl who had come to him longing with her whole heart to die; and the longing had been granted. He was accustomed to many a sad sight, and scene, to every kind of sickness and distress; but he had seen nothing which touched him more than the dead face of this hapless girl. Tears came into his eyes. The duchess would not allow anything to be touched in the room until the general and Sir Basil came. They had telegraphed at once for them. Fast as steam could take them, they went to Mentone and found* the terrible news true that Leah was dead. All the calm, imperial beauty of her youth came back to her as she lay sleeping after her long fever and pain. There was no pain on the beautiful face; the thick, dark eyelashes lay like fringe on the white cheeks; there was a strange beauty on the marble brow, and the proud curves of the perfect lips were set in a smile; The duchess had covered the couch on which she lay with lovely white blossoms; and so Sir Basil, who had parted from her on board the steamer, saw her again. He kissed the pale lips that had murmured so many loving words to him, weeping like a child and regretting that he had not loved her more. Early the next morning he went out and procured some scarlet passion flowers. Sir Arthur Hked him all the better because he cried like a child when he placed them in the dead white hands. One could have fancied that a smile passed over the dead face. Her secret waa safe forever now, and no one knew why she had died. No suspicion of the truth came to any one of them. So they mourned her, and no sting of bitter memories increased their pain. Hettie and the general learned to love each other in the midst of their trouble more than they would ever have done in prosperity. They mourned long and sincerely for Leah. The general for a long time was quite unlike himself —he seemed unable to recover from the blow; and there were times when everyone thought that Hettie must follow her sister. There was a great outburst of sorrow in England when the papers told that Leah, the beloved niece of Gen. Sir Arthur Hatton, had died suddenly at Mentone, of heart disease.

English visitors go now to see her grave; none leave it without tears. They tell each other how soon she was to have been married to someone whom she loved dearly, and how she was writing to her lover when the summons came. Leah’s grave is the most beautiful in the cemetery. A tall white marble cross bears her name, and masse* of superb scarlet passion flowers creep up it and overhang the grave. Five years have passed since Leah’s death, but her memory lives bright and beautiful among those who loved het beat. Sir Basil and Hettie have been three years married and they live entirely at Brentwood. Sir Arthur implored them to let it be so. He could not bear to live alone again. So they had consented to make Brentwood their home, leaving it at times to go to Glen, when the general always accompanied them. He Loved Heit tie, and, as the years rolled on, he looked to her for all the comfort and brightness of his life. ’But those who knew him best said that she had never occupied the same place in -his heart which Leah had. There is no fear that Leah will be forgotten at Brentwood. The beautiful picture of her shown at the Royal Academy and called “The Passion-Flower,” hangs in the drawing room there. Every one who sees it stops and looks with wonder it the lovely face and dark eyes that leem to follow one. Lady Carlton has a fine handsome boy, whom she has named Arthur, who inherits her blue eyes and golden hair. She thinks that there is no boy in England like him, and Sir Basil is of the same opinion, though, perhaps, in hjs heart he loves best the baby girl called Leah, whose dark eyes and lovely face bring so vividly back to him the one buried forever from the sight of men. / One morning Lady Carlton, at play with her baby girl, caught her in her arms and held her up in front of the picture of “The Passion-Flower.” “See, Basil,” she cried, “little Leah will be the very image of her aunt.” Sir Basil crossed over to his wife. “She will resemble her,” he said quietly, “but I hope baby’s face will not have the shadow of melancholy that lies on this one.” “I hope not,” returned Hettie. “Leah always had that look; even when her face was most radiant, it was there. Oh, Basil, how young and beiutiful»she was to die!”

“I often wonder,” said Sir Basil, “what would have happened had she lived. Hettie. I never like to think that our happiness—and we are happy, sweet wife—comes from Leah’s death.” Hettie looked at him thoughtfully. “It is not so, Basil,” she said. “If Leah had lived, you would have married her, but she never would have been happy. I think she wanted something more than one finds in this world. Her nature was noble and lofty; I do not think any human love would have satisfied her. Do you remember the restless longing on her beauteous face? See—it is tltere, even in this picture. She would never have been happy.” "Perhaps not,” allowed Sir Basil, “perhaps not, Hettie. I think you are right,” he said, as they moved slow!y away from the beautiful face.' That was how they judged her. “The heavy clouds may be raining, But with evening comes the light; Through the dark are low winds complaining, . Yet the sunrise gilds the height. And love has hidden treasure For the patient and the pure; And Time gives his fullest measure To the workers who endure; And the Word that no love has shaken Has the future pledge supplied; - - For we'know that when we ‘awaken* We shall be ‘satisfied;’ ” 4 (Ttmend.) •