Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 August 1894 — SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE HIGHT. [ARTICLE]

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE HIGHT.

“Will you come and help me to some photographs?” he asked cheerily. “You do not need to have a straight eye for that.” Then as they went along together he said: “When we come to think about it seriously it is rather absurd for us to expect to have uninterrupted stretches of happiness. Happiness falls to our share in separate detached bits, and those of.us who are wise content ourselves with these broken fragments? 1 “But who is wise?” Bernardino asked. “Why, we all expect to be happy. Still no one has told us. It is the true instinct of human nature. ” “It would be interesting to know at what particular period of evolution into our present glorious types we felt that instinct for the first time,” he slid. “Thesunshine must have had something to do with it. You see how a dog throws -itself down in the sunshine; the most wretched cur heaves a sigh of content; the sulkiest cat then begins to purr.” They were standing outside of the room set apart for the photograph maniacs of the Kurhaus. “I cannot go into that horrid little hole,” Bernardine said. “And, besides, I have promised to play chess with the Swedish professor. And after that I am going to photograph Marie. I promised Warli I would.” The Disagreeable Man then smiled grimly. ' “I hope he will be able to recognize her," he said. Then, feeling that he was on dangerous ground, he "" added quickly: “If you want any more plates, I can oblige you.” On her way to her room she stopped to talk to pretty Fraulein Muller. who was in high spirits, having had an excellent report from the 'Doctor. Fraulein Muller always infeisted on talking English with Bernardine, and as her knowledge of it was limited, a certafn amount of imagination was necessary ,to enable her to be understood. ’ “Ah, Miss Holme,” she said, ‘‘l have received an exquisite report from the Doctor." • “You are looking ever so well,’' Bernardine said. “And the. lovemaking with the Spanish gentleman goes on well, too?” “Ach!” was the merry answer. “That is your inventory. lam quite indolent to him!” At that moment the Spanish gentleman came out of, the Kurhaus .flower shop with a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “Mademoiselle,” he said, handing them to Fraulein Muller and at the same time put his band to his heart. He had not noticed Bernardine at first and when he saw’her he became somewhat confused. She smiled at therrr both and escaped into the flower shop, which was situated in one of the covered passages connecting the mother building with the dependencies. Herr Schmidt, the gardener, was making a wreath. His favorite companion, a saffron cat, was playing with the wire, Schmidt was rather an ill-tempered man. but he liked Bernardine. “I have put these violets aside for you, Fraulein,” he said in his sulky way. “I meant to have sent them to your room, but have been inter-! rupted in my work. ” “You spoil me with your gifts.” she said. “You spoil my cat with v the milk,” he replied, looking up from his work. ; “That is a beautiful wreath you j are- making, Herr-Schmidt,” she; said. “ Who has died? Any one in : the Kurhaus?” “No, Fraulein. But I ought_to] keep my door locked when 1 make’these wreaths. People get fright-1 ened and think they, too, are going: to die. Shall you be frightened, I j wonder?” 1 “No, I believe not,” she answered I as she took possession of her violets j •and stroked the saffron cat.“ But I: am glad no one has died here.” “It is for a young. beautiful lady.” i lie said. “She was at the Kurhaus j two years ago. I liked her. So I; am taking extra pains. She did ndt <-are for the flowers to be wired. So I am trying my best without wire. I But it is difficult.” She left him to his work and went' away thinking. All the time she hid ; now been at Petershok had not sufficed to mali» Ii t indifferent to the I sadness-of her surroundings. In vain ! the Disagreeable Mali's preachings, I in vain her own reasonings with herself. I These , people here who suffered, j and faded, and passed away. who ! were they to her? Why should the faintest shadow steal across her soul on account of them? , There was no reason. And still she felt for them all. she who in the] old days would have thought it waste of time to spare a moment s reflection on anything so unimportant as the sufferings of an individual human being. I And the bridge betwe en her former and her present self was her own illness. What dull-minded sheep w e must all be, how lacking in the very elements of imagination, since wo are only able to learn by personal experience of grief and s uffering, something about the suffer ing and grief of others! Yea,. how the dogs must wonder

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

PART I. CHAPTER XV- Continued .

at us: those dogs who know when we are in pain or trouble, and nestle near to us. So Bernardine reached her own door. She heard her name called, and, turning round, saw Mrs. Ref fold. There was a scared look on her beautiful face. “Miss Holme.” she said, “I have been sent so daren’t go to him alone —1 want you—he is worse. I .am — __ Bernardine took her hand, and the two women hurried away in silence. CHAPTER XVI. WHEN THE SOUL KNOWS ITS OWN 1 REMORSE. Bernardine had seen Mr. Reffold the previous day. She had sat by his side and held his hand. He had smiled at her many times, but he only spoke?once. • “Little Brick,” he whispered—for his voice had become nothing but a whisper -“I remember all “you told me. God bless you. But what a long time it does take to die.” But that was yesterday. The lane had come to an ending at last, and Mr. Reffold lay dead. They bore him to the little mortuary ch ape 1. An d Bern ard in e s tay ed with Mrs. Reffold, who seemed afraid to be alone. She clung .to Bernardine’s hand. “No, no,” she said excitedly, “you must not go! I can’t bear to be alone; you must stay with me.” She expressed no sorrow, no regret. She did not eVen speak his namb. She just sat nursing her beautiful face. Once or twice Bernardine tried to slip away. The waiting about was a strain on her, and she felt that she was doing no good. But each time Mrs. Reffold looked up and prevented her. “No, no,” she said, “I can’t bear myself without you. I must have you near me. Why should you leave me?” So Bernardine lingered. She tried to a book which lay on the table. She counted the lines and dots on the wall paper. She thought about the dead man; and about the living woman. She had pitied him; but .when she looked at the stricken face of his wife. Bernardine’s whole heart rose up in pity for her. Remorse would come, although it might not remain long. The soul would see itself face to face for one brief moment; and then forget its own likeness. But for the moment —what a weight of suffering, what a whole century of agony! * » Bernardine grew very tender for Mrs. Reffold; she bent over- the sofa and fondled the beautiful face. “Mrs. Reffold —” she whispered. That wa* she said; but it was enough. Mrs. Reflcld burst into an agony C> Ncr*. ” “Ob. Miss Holme, she sobbed, “and I was not even kind to him! And now it is too late. How can I ever bear myself?” And then it was that the soul remorse. CHAPTER XVII. A RETURN TO OLD j PASTURES. She had left him’ alone and’neglected for whole hours when he was alive. And now when he was dead, and it probably mattered little to him where he was laid, it was some j time before she could make up her j mind to leave him in the lonely little I Petershof cemetery. “It will be so dreary for him ' t here.” she said to the Doctor. “Not so dreary as you made it for i him here,” thought the Doctor. But he did not say that, he just I urged her quietly to have her hus- ‘ band buried in Petershof; and she ; yielded. So they laid him to rest in the dreary ceifietery. Bernardino went to the funeral, ; much the Disagreeable Man’s ! wish. “You are looking like a ghost yourself,” he said to her. “Come out with me into the country instead.” But she shook her head. “Another day,” she said. “And Mrs. Reffold wants me. I can’t leave her alone for she is so misera ble.” The Disagreeable Man shrugged his shoulders and went off by himself. Mrs. Reffold clung very much to • Bernardine those last days before , she left Petershof. She had decided I to go to Wiesbaden, where she had ; relations, and she invited Bernardine I to go with her; it Was more than that, she almost begged her. Bernardine refused. *“I have been from England nearly five months,” she said, “and my money is coming to an end. I must go back and work.” “Then come away with me as my companion,” Mrs. Reffold suggested. “And I will pay you a handsome salary.” Bernardine could not be persuaded. “No," she said, “I cduld not earn money that way; it would not suit me. And, besides, you would cot care to be a long time with me; you would soon tire of me. You think, you would like to have me with] you now. But I know how it would be; you would be sorry and so should I. So let us part as we arc now, you going your way and I going mine. We live in different worlds, Mrs. Reffoid: 1 it jvould be as sense-

less for me to venture into yours as for you to come into mine. Do you think I am unkind?” So they parted. Mrs. Reffold had spokenno word of affection to Bernardine, but at the station, as she bent down to kiss her, sh.e whispered: ■ —7“ “I know you will not think too hardly of me. Still, will you promise me? And if you are ever in trouble, and lean help you, will you write to me?” A nd Bernardine promised. When she got back to her room she found a small packet on her table.: It contained Mr. Reffold’s watch chain. She had so often seen him playing with it. There was a little piece of paper enclosed with it, and Mr. Reffold had written on it two months ago: “Give my watch chain to Little Brick, if she will sacrifice a little of her pride and accept the gift. Bernardine unfastened her watch from the black hair chord and attached it instead to Mr. Reffold’s massive gold chain. As she sat there fiddling with it the idea seized her that she would be all the better for a day’s outing At first she thought she would go alone, and then she decided to ask Robert Allitsen She learned from Marie that he was in the dark room and she hastened down. She knocked several times before there was any answer. _ ___ “I can’t be just now,” he said. “Who is it?” “I can’t shout to you,” she said. The Disagreeable Man opened the door of. the dark room. “My negatives will be spoiled,” he said gruffly. Then seeing Bernardine standing there, he added: “Why, you look as though you wanted some brandy. ” “No,” she said, smiling at his sudden change of manner. “I want fresh air, a sledge drive and a day’s outing. Will you come?” He made no answer and retired once more into the dark room. Then he came out with his camera. “We will go tojthat inn again,” he said cheerily. “I want to take the photographs to those peasants.” In half an hour’s time they were on their way. It was the same drive as before, arid since then Bernardine had seen more of the country and was more accustomed to the wonderful white scenery; but still the “white presences” awed her, and still the deep silence held her. It was the same scene, and yet not the same, either, for the season was now far advanced and the melting of the snows had begun, In the far distance the whiteness seemed as before. but on the slopes near at hand the green was beginning to assert itself and some of the great trees had cast off their heavy burdens and appeared more gloomy in their freedom than in the days* of their snow bondage. The roads wore no longer : quite so even as before; the sledge glided along when it could and bumped along when it must. Still, there was suffleientsnow to make the drive possible and even pleasant. The two companions were quiet. Once only the Disagreeable Man made a remark, and then he said: “I am afraid my negatives will be spoilt.” ZfYou said that before,” Bernardine remarked. “Well, I say it again,” he answered in his grim way. Then came a long pause. “The best part of the winter is ■ over,” he said. “We may have some !• more snow, but. it is more probable that we shall not. It is not en joyable here during the melting time.” “Well, in any case, I should not be here much longer,” she said, “and for a simple reason, too. I have nearly come to the end of tny money. I shall have to go back and set to work again. I should not have been able to give myself this chance, but that my uncle spared me some iff this money, to which I added my , savings.” ______ “Are you badly off?” the Disagreeable Man asked rather timidly. “I have very few wants,” she answered brightly. “And wealth is only a relative word, after all.” “It is- a pity that you should go back to work so soon," he said half to himself. “You are only just better; and it is easy to Ibse what one has gained.” “Oh, I am not likely to lose,” she answered, “but. I shall be careful this time. I shall do a little teaching, and perhaps a little writing: not much —you need not be vexed. I shall not try to pick up the other threads yet. I shall not be political, nor educational, nor anything else great.” “If you call politics or education great,” he said. “And heaven defend me from political or highly educated wombn!” —------ u —~~ “You say that because you know nothing about them,” she answered sharply. “Thank you,” he replied. “I have met them quite often enough.” “That was probably some time ago,” she said rather heartlessly. “If you have lived here so long, how can you judge of the changes which go op in the world outside Petershof?” “If I have lived here so long,” he repeated, in the bitterness of his heart. Bernardine did not notice;-she was on a subject which always excited her. “I don’t know so much about the political women.” she said, “but I do know about the higher education people. The writers who rail against the women of this date are really describing the women of ten years ago. Why, the Girton girl of ten years ago seems a different creation from the Girton girl of today. Yet the latter has been the steady outgrowth of the former."

“And the difference between them?” asked the Disagreeable Man. “The Girton girl of ten year! ago,” said Bernardine, “was a sombre, spectacled person, carelessly anddovvdilv dressed, who gave herself up. to wisdom and despised all who did not know the Agamemnon bv heart. She was probably not lovable; but she deserves to be honored and thankfully She fought for woman’s right to be well educated, and I cannot bear to hear her slighted. The fresh-hearted young girl who nowadays plays a good game of lawn tennis, and takes a high place in the Classical or Mathematical Tripos, and is book learned, without being bookish, \ - : '"k ' - “What other ‘ virtues are ’ left, I wonder?” he interrupted. f “And who does not scorn to take a pride in her looks because she happens to take a pride in her books,” continued Bernardine, looking at the Disagreeable Man, and not seeming to see him; “she is what she is by reason of that grave and loveless woman who won the battle for her.” Here she paused. “But how ridiculous for me to talk to you in this way!” she said. “Ii! is not likely that you would be interested in the widening out of woman's lives.” ‘‘And pray why not?” he asked. “Have I been on the shelf too long?” “I think you would not have been interested even if you had never been on the shelf,” she said frankly. “You are not the type of man to be generous to woman.” (TO BE CONTINUED.'I