Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 July 1894 — SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT [ARTICLE]

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT

But be took the hint-all the same, tod shortened his explanations, and as Bernardiue was genuinely inter gated, he was well satisfied, From time to time he looked at his old camera and at his companion, and from the expression of unease on his it was evident that some contest was going on in his mind. Twice fee stood near his old camera, and turned round to Bernardine intend-, lug to make some remark. Then he changed his mind, and walked abruptly to the other end of the room as though to seek advice from his chemical-bottles. Bernardine mean • while had risen from her chair, and was looking out of the window. “You have a lovely View,” she said. “It must be nice to look at that when you are tired of dissecting J cheesemitos—All the same I think the white scenery gives one a great sense of sadness and..loneliness. " “Why do .you speak always of loneliness?" he asked. “I have been thinking a good deal about it,’' she said. “When I was. strong and Vigorous the idea of loneliness never entered my mind. Now Isee how lonely most people are. If I believed in God as a Personal God, I should be inclined-to think that loneliness were part of his. scheme: so that the soul of man might turn to him and him alone.” The Disagreeable Man was standing by hU-camera again; his decision was made. “Don’t think about those questions.,” be said, kindly. “Don’t worry and fret ton much about the philosophy of life. Leave philosophy alone, and take to photography instead. Here,Tlvill lend you my old camera. ” “Do you mean that?” she asked, glancing at him in astonishment. “Of course I moan it,” he said. He looked remarkably pleased at himself, and Bernardine could not help smiling. He looked just as a child looks when he has given up a toy to another child, and is conscious that he has behaved himself ratber well. “I am very much obliged to you,” sbe said frankly. “I have had a great wish to learn photography.” “I might have lent my camera to you before, mightn't I?” he said thoughtfully. “No,” §be answered, “there was not any reason?’ “No,” he said, with a kind of relief, “there was not any reason. That is quite true. 11 “When will you give me mv first lesson?’’ she asked. “Perhaps, though, you would like to wait’a few days, in case you change your mind.” , “It takes me soaie time to make op my mind.” he replied; “but I do not change 4L- -So T- will give-yon your first lesson tomorrow. Only you must not be impatient. You iftustconsent to be taught; you can not possibly know everything!” Thev fixed a time for the morrow, and Bernardine went off with the camera; and meeting Marie on the staircase, confided to her the piece of good fortune which had befallen her. “See what Herr Allitseq has lent me, Marie!” she said, Marie raised her hands in astonishment. “Who would have thought such a thing of Herr Allitsen?’’ said Marie. ‘‘Why. he does not like lending me a match.” Bernardine laughed and passed on to her room. And the Disagreeable Man meanwhile was cutting a new scientific book which had just come from England. He spent a good deal oftaon-ey on himself. He was soon absorbed In this book, and much interested in *she diagrams. Suddenly he looked up to the cor--ger where the old o-amora had .stoo:I. before Bernardine took it away in triumph. “I hope she won't hurt that camera,” he said, a little uneasily. “I am half sorrv that —■ —” Then a kinder mood took possession of him. “Well, at least it will keep her from fussing and fretting and thinking. Still I hope she won’t hurt it.” CHAPTER XIII. A DOMESTIC SCENE. One afternoon when Mrs. Reffold catne to say good-bye to her husband before going out for the usual sledge <irive, he surprised her by his unwonted manner. “Take your cloak off,” he said, sharply. “You can not gofer your drive this afternoon. You don’t often give up vour time to me; you must do so today.” She was so astonished that she at once laid aside her cloak and hat, and torched the bell. “Why are you ringing?” Mr. Reffold asked testily, “To send a message of excuse,” she answered, with provoking cheerfulness. She scribbled something on a card, and gave it to /he servant who answered the belL “Now,” she said, with great sweetness of manner. And she sat «iowa beside him,drew out her fancywork, and worked at it contentedly. She would have made a charming study df a devoted wife soothing a much loved husband in his hours of sickuess and weariness. “Do you mitid giving up your drive?" he askjki“Notin the (least,” she replied. —I am rather tEjred of sledging.” |

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

PART I.— CHAPTER XID- Continued.

“You soon get- tired of things; Winifred,” he said. “Yes, T do.” was the answer. “I am so easily bored. lam quite tired of this place.” “You will have to stay here a little longer,” he said, “and then you will be free to go where you choose. I wish I could die quicker for you. Winfred.” Mrs. Reffold looked up from her embroidery. “You will get better soon.” she said. “You arebetter. ” “Yes. you’ve helped a good deal to make me better,” he said bitterly. “You have been a most unselfish person, haven’t you? You have given me every care and attention, haven’t you?” “You seem to me in a very strange I mood today,” she said, looking puzzled. ' £ i don’t-understand you. ” Mr. Reffold laughed. “Poor Winfred,” he said. ‘‘lf it is ever vour lot to fall ill and Vie neglected, perhaps then you will think of me.” “Neglected?” she said, in surprise. “What do you mean? I thought you had everything you wanted. The nurse brought excellent testij monials. I was careful in the choice of her. You have never complained J before.” I He turned wearily on his side, and ! made no answer. And for some time, there was silence between them. Then he watched her as she bent over her embroidery. “You are very beautiful,Winifred, he said quietly, “but you are a selfish woman. Has it ever struck you that you are selfish?” Mrs. Reffold gave no reply, but she made a resolution to write to he.' particular friend at Cannes and confide to her how very trying her husband had become. “I suppose it is a part of his illness,” she thought meekly. “But it is hard to have to bear it.” And Mrs. Reffold pitied herself profoundly. She stitched sincere pity for herself into that pieee of embroidery. ‘T remember you telling me,” continued Mr. Reffold, “that sick people repelled you. That was when I was strong and vigorous. But since I have been ill I have recalled your words. Boor Winfred: You dfd not think then that you would have an invalid husband on your hands. Well, you were not intended for sick room nursing, and t you have nob tried to be what vou- | were not- intended for. Perhaps 'you. Were right, after all.” “I don’t know why you should be so unkind today, Mrs. Reffold said with pathetic patience. “I can’t understand you, _Y_ou have never spok_en like this before.” —‘.‘.No?.: lies aid, ‘ ‘but I have thought j like this before. All the hours that i you have left me lonely, 1 have been , thinking like this, with my heart full lof bitterness against you, until that : little girl, that Little Brick came ' along.” After that, it was some time be- ' fore he spoke. He was thinking of Little Brick, and of all the pleasant hours he had spent with her, and of the kind, wise words she had spoken to him. an ignorant fellow. She was something like a companion. ' So he went on thin king, and Mrs v Reffold went on embroidermg. She ; was now feeling herself to be almost ; a heroine. It is a very easy . matter to make oneself into a j heroine or martyr. Selfish, neglect- | ful? What did he mean? Oh, it I was just part of his illness. She , must go on bearing her burden as ! she had borne it these many months, j Her rightful position was in a London hall-room. Instead of which j she had to be shut up in ah Alpine ! village;-a. hard, :dQL.,,J[t -was little I enough pleasure she could get. and apparently her husbandgrudged her That. His manner to her this®afternoon was not such as to encourage her to stay in from her drive on another occasion. To-morrow she would go sledging. That flash of light which reveals ourselves had not yet come to Mrs. I Reffold. I She looked at her husband, and l thought from his restfulness that he j had gone to sleep, and she was just I beginning to write to that particular ! friend at Cannes, to tell her' what a trial she was undergoing, when Mr. Reffold called her to his side. “Winifred,” lie said gently, and there was tenderness in his voice, and dove w ritten on his face, “ Winifred, I am sorry if I have been sharp to you. Little Brick says we musn’t, come down like sledge-hammers on each other; and that is what I have been doing this afternoon. Perhaps I have been hard; I am such an illness to myself, that I must be an illness to others too. And you weren’t meant for this sort of thing —Were you? You are a bright, beautiful creature, and I am an unfortunate] dog not to have been able to make voil happier. know I am irritable. I can’t help myself, in- | deed I can’t. This great long fellow was so ' yearning for love and sympathy. | What would it not have been to him if she had gathered him into her arms, and soothed all his irritability and suffering with her love? But she pressed fiis hand, and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and told him that he had been a little sharp, but that sho quite understood, anti that she was not hurt. Her charm of manner gave him some sat-

isfaction; and when Bernardine came in a few minutes later, sbe found Mr. Reffold looking happier and more contented tbau she had ever seen him. Mrs. Reffold, who was relieved at the interruption, received Bernardine warmly, though there was a certain amount of shyness wkickshe had never beetr abie to conquer in Bernardine’s presence. There was something in the younger woman which quelled Mrs. Reffold; it may have been some mental quality, or it may have been her boots! “Little Brick,” said Mr. Reffold, “isn’t it nice to have Winifred here? And I have been so disagreeable and snappish.” “Oh, we won’t say anthing about that now,” said Mrs. Reffold. smiling sweetly. “But I’ve said lam sorry,”he continued. “And one can't do more.” “No,” said Bernardine, who was amused at the notion of Mr. Reffold apologizing to Mrs. Reffold, and of Mrs. Reffold posing as the gracious forgiver, “one can’t do more.” But she could not control her feelings, and she laughed. -“‘You seem rather mcrrynris-aL-ternoon,” Mr. Reffold said, in a reproachful tone of voice. . “Yes.” she said. And she laughed again. Mrs. — Reffold's forgiving graciousness had altogether upset her gravity. “You might at least tell us the joke,” Mrs. Reffold said. Bernardine looked at her hopelessly, and laughed again. “1 have been developing photo-" graphs all the afternoon,” she said, “and I suppose the closeness of the air and th§ badness of my negatives have been too much forme. Anyway, I know L must seem very rude.” She recovered herself after that, and tried hard not to think of Mrs. Reffold as the dispenser of forgiveness, although it was some time before she could look at her hostess without wishing to laugh. The -comers of-hex month twitched, and her brown eyes Twinkled mischievously, and she spoke very rapidly, making fun of her first attempts at photography, ami criticising herself so comically, that both Mr. and Mrs. Reffold were much amused. All the same, Bernardine was relieved when Mrs. Reffold went to fetch some silks, and left her with Mr. Reffold.

“I am very happy this afternoon, Little Brick,” he said to her. “My wife has been, sitting with me. But instead of enjoying the pleasure as I ought to have done, I began to find fault with her. I don't know how long I should not have gone on grutnbling, but that I suddenly recollected what you taught me, that we were not to come down like sledge-hammers on each other’s failings. When I remembered that, it was quite easy to forgive all the neglect and thoughtfulness. Since xefiL have talked to me, Little Brick, everything has become easier to me.” “It is something in your own mind which has worked this,” she said; “your own kind generous mind, and you put it down to my words.” But he shook his head. “If I knew of any unfortunate devil that wanted to ije eased and comforted,” he said, “I should tell him about you, Little Brick. You have been very good to me. You may be clever, but you have never worried my stupid brain with too much scholarship. I’m just an ignorant chap, and you’ve never let me feel it.” He took her hand and raised it reverently to his lips. “I say,” he continued, “tell my wife it made me happy to have her with me this afternoon; then perhaps she will stay in another time. I should like her to know. And she was sweet in her manner, wasn’t she? And, by Jove, she is beautiful ! lam glad you have seen her here today. It must be dull for her with an invalid like me. And I know lam irritable. Go and .tell her that she made me happy—will you?” The little bit of happiness at which the poor fellow .snatched seemed to make him more pathetic—than before. Bernardine promised to tell his wife, and went off to find her, making as an excuse a book which Mrs. Reffold had offered to lend her. "Mrs. Reffold was in her bedroom. She!asked Bernar dine to sit down whilst she searched for the book, She had a very gracious manner when she chose.

“You are looking much better. Miss Holme,” sho said kindly. “I cannot help noticing your face. It looks younger and brighter. The bracing air has done you good.” “Yes, I am better,” Bernardine said, rather astonished that Mrs. Reffold should have noticed her at all “Mr. Allitsen informs me that I shall live, but never be strong. He settles every question of that sort to his own satisfaction, but not always to the satisfaction of other people." “He is a curious person,” Mrs. Reffold said, smiling, “though I must say he is not as gruff as he used to be. You seem to be good friends with him.” She would have liked to say more on this subject, but experience had taught her that Bernardine was not to be trifled with. “I don’t know about being good friends,” Bernardine said, “but I have a great syrrfpathy for him. I know myself what it is to be cut off from work and active life. I have been through a misery. But mine is nothing to his.” She rose to go, but Mrs. Reffold detained her. “Don’t go yet,” she said. “It is pleasant to have you.” She was leaning back in an arm chair, playing with the fringe of an antimacassar. “Oh, how tired I am of this horrid place!” she said suddenly. “Ana

I have had a most wearying afternoon. Mr. Reffold seems to be mor« irritable every day. It is very hard that I should have to bear it.” Bernardine looked at'her in astonishment. “.Yes,” she added, “I am quite worn out. He never used to be so dEHtable. It is all very tiresameu-it is quite telling on my health.” She looked the picture of health. Bernardine gasped, and Mrs. Reffold continued: —— - “His grumbling this afternoon has been incessant; so much so that he himself was ashamed, and asked me to forgive him. You heard him, did you not?” “Yes, I heard him,” Bernardine replied. —— ' “And of course I forgave him at once,” Mrs. Reffold said piously. “Naturally one would do that, but the vexation remains all the same.” “Can these things be?” thought Bernardine to herself. “He spoKe in a most ridiculous wav.” she went on; “it certainly is not encouraging for me to spend another afternoon with him. I shall go si priori no- tomorrow." “You generally do go sledging, don’t you?” Bernardine inquired mMdly. Mrs. Reffold looked at her suspi ciously. She was never quite sure that Bernardiue was not making fun of her. “It is little enough pleasure I dc have.” she added, as though in selfdefense? “And he seems to grudge me that, too.” “I don’t" think he would grudge you anything,” Bernardine said, with some warmth. “He loves you too much for that. You don’t know how much pleasure you give him when you spare him a little of your time. He told me how happy you made him this afternoon. You •could see for yourself that he was happy. Mrs. Reffold. make him happy whilst you still have, him. Don't you understand : that hetspassiiTg a way from- -you — don’t you understand, or is it that you won’t? We all see it, all except you!” She stopped suddenly,surprised at her boldness. Mrs. Reffold was still leaning back in the arm-chair, her hands clasped together above her beautiful head. Her face was pale.' She did not speak. Bernardine waited. The silence was, unbroken save by the merry cries of some children tobogganing in the Kurhaus garden. The stillness grew oppressive, and Bernardine rose. She knew from the effort which those few words cost her, how far removed she was from her old former self. “Good-bye, Mrs. Reffold,” she said nervously. “Gooff-bye, Miss Holme," was the only answer. (TO BE CONTINUED?