Soul and Almanac.

Timaru Herald, Volume XIIC, Issue 13979, 14 August 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

Soul and Almanac.

(By May Edginton.)

I. "Poor Edgar badly wanted to find his way out," said Rose, "so of course he wrote to her —with sympathy, and all •that, you know—but that he'd married me. Ha! ha! ha!" "Ha! ha! ha!" Driver echoed. " Some women are predestined to be old maids —not that I ever saw her," said Rose. " and they ought to accept the fact." "And some,' he murmured, "seem predestined to receive far more than their fair share of love and admiration. The balance of things should be adjusted, don't you think?" She looked at him and laughed, shaking an elaborately-dressed head. They were sitting together at a little breakfast table on the verandah of a Riviera hotel, waiting for her husband to join them. " I don't think. Most certainly not. Oh! I'm greedy, I know I'm greedy; but how dull it would be if everything were averaged up. It's the extremes that provide the excitement of life. Not that Edgar could have found much excitement from love affair number one " "Tour arithmetic, or Senhouse's?" Driver suggested, smiling. She shrugged. "•'"Oh, well . As if I care who ther it was number one or number fifty, since, after all, the column adds up to me! I was going to tell you about it, while we wait for Edgar* if you are the least interested to hear."

It was his sorry business, as social sponge, to he exceedingly interested in anything Rose ' might say. (He had occupied himself very assiduously in scraping rather more than an acquaintance with the Senhopses daring his stay in the same hotel.) "Of course, I am more than the least- interested "

_ " You see," said Mrs Senhouse, putting. her elbows on the table, and her round cliin into lier palms, while she stared at the women at adjoining tables. "you see —I like that white serge. Do vou? 1 No? Oh, liow threadbare! Can't you do better? I don't, mind your admiring it! Yoti see, the woman was a small farmer's daughter, or some .person of that sort, in Wiltshire. Not pretty, Edgar assured me; no milkmaid beauty, or roses and cream combination, but quite, quite plain • and dowdy. Hopelessly rustic. She was three or four years older than Edgar. Her mother was dead, and she kept house for an old father, and when Edgar was holidaying once in the wilds, lie had rooms at the farm. Then he ■was dreadfully ill, and she nursed liim. He says her devotion was wonderful. And men are such hopeless imbeciles on the ministering angel subject. So, overcome by gratitude, or something equally fatuous, he proposed to her. • Of course, she jumped—positively jumped—at it. Needless to say, as soon as he could decently get away lie got. And began repenting. Then he met me." "All!" said Driver delightfully. He knew how to say "Ah!" "Nonsense!" said Rose, but with a dimple wavering into each of her pink cheeks. " Well, yes. Of course, we converged. There had been a kind of understanding between him and thisperson for about a year. He didn't ■write to her much; he meant to cool off gradually, you see, and bv-and-bv lier letters stopped. Edgar told me all about it, and I should have insisted on a more definite brea'king, only I was so busy with my frocks and things,.you know, that 1 forgot. So we were married, and when we were honeymooning in Paris, a letter was forwarded to him from her saying she liad had a long illness —rheumatic fever, or something, and left her with a —a — crocky heart, and had contorted her face a little, somehow. She thought she must tell liim, as lie might wish to ' break it off.' ' Break ' you know. Absurd! when had never, been any definite engagement at all! Naturally, I was very upset " "'Naturally," said l)river sympathetically. " And so, as I told you, he wrote and said he was already married to me, and that we were both sorry to think

she had ever contemplated the matter seriously. I enclosed five pounds. Edgar said he was sure it was quite wrong, but I felt I could be magnanimous." "And?" he asked.

"She sent it back," said Mrs Senhouse. " without even thanking 111 c. Said her father had died and left her

the farm, and more money than any-

one expected he possesed, and she did not need pecuniary compensation for the wrong I had done her." Rose's big eyes were round and aggrieved—and quite shallow. Driver looked into them meditatively. x "Oh, you little kitten with claws!" he cried to himself.

'"But wasn't it quite a romance?" she said vivaciously. "So interesting, don't you think. Of course we laugh about it uow, but at tlie time it was quite a tragedy to me. You may imagine my feelings—married a week, and that sort of tiling happening! "We call her the Wiltshire heiress now, Edgar and I, because of the study way she wrote about her few potty acres and her pig and her cow. Oh, I've told the story to ever so many people!"' She was almost the silliest little chatterbox Driver had ever met. but he had the greatest respect for her husband's bank-book. H.n was breakfasting at their expense this morning, dining likewise freely in the evening, and in the interim would sample Edgar's good cigars. "But the poor heiress!" he remarked. "I can't help dropping a tear for her, since l'*atc won't average np lier dues. I wonder how .Miss —the heiress —.Miss —Miss " "Kate." Hose supplied— "Kate Sheppard." •• flow Miss Kate Sheppard liked her ' extreme -of fortune' which provided the '-excitement.' I think I'm a little bit sorry for her. On the ground of fellow-feeling, you know! You atid your husband arc the lucky kind of people. Yours is the extreme of bien-etre, and jollity. and prosperity. You're oil the right side. Now 1 m like Miss —Miss —Sheppard : I'm on t'other. You have all tin? ha'pence, we the kicks. Softened occasionally, 1 must admit, as at the immediate prest lit " .. * "Do you mean,' said Kose, witliher contemplation trom the white serge frock at- a far t-able. that —that " "Frankly," said Driver, smiling into lier eves —he spoke very frankly sometimes to rich acquaintances —" I'm just at tha end of my tether. Mrs ftcuJiouse. Dead beat!" "Oh!" she crii-d softly. She leaned across the table to him. Women liked Driver. "Oh! Can I—do • let mc — you know Edgar gives me '' "You are ;i darling!" said Driver. " But—thauks— it's not temporary, yon know. I think I must seek for some relief. I think I want —an heiress this time. Here's Senhouse—'' ' " Edgar." said his wife. " you're late. Ho I've been telling lii*»i all about ' Kate.' to amuse him. We've l.ijifibed tremendously. I'm awfully hungry. I think you'd better give Mr Driver 'Kate's' address, and furnish him with a letter of introduction to the pigs and the poultry. because he's going home in a day or two. Aren't you. Mr Driver r"

"Home?" he repeated a little plaintively. "Homo? My clear Mrs Senhouse, I have no home. I'm just a wanderer on the face of the earth, hardly knowing sometimes where 1 shall lay my head." Senhouse began his breakfast. " I'll bet it usually finds a soft- pillow," he said. In which he was right.

Driver had spoken literal truth when he told Rose he was at the end of his tether. His social accomplishments undoubtedly served him well, but they could seldom put hard cash into his empty pockets. He was known as a persistent- sponge. Men had begun to look away and button up their pockets when lie approached. Pretty women, with the soft hearts for the trouble he poured into their ears, were vigilantly shepherded by husbands and fathers. Not a few had applied the term "adventurer" to bin:, and it began to stick. He was Bearing forty, and had jjulled out not a few grey hairs. He said that, most things in the- universe were flat, stale ; and unprofitable, but knew that it was himself becoming so. Thus, for a, remuneration, lie was willing to make the Sacrifice. He would offer up staled senses, some vices, unsavoury past—in short himself —upon the altar to an heiress. But he could not- aim high. He knew that. He must content himself" with humble game, having dallied too long. The man actually came back to TC niland with the address of a certain Wiltshire- farm in his pocket-bonk. Also, incidentally, a photo of Rose—who scented intrigue as a warrior snuffs battle —cast into some corner of his portmanteaux.

Martin Driver was by way of being a hit of an artist. (111 tho wider sense of the term he was more than

" a bit-.'*) That is to say, lie painted a little and sketched a good deal, in a slipshod, dilettante sort of day, that had put in his more strenuous days, a few guineas now and again into his pockets. Ho arrived in England the possessor of a few shillings over and above his rail-fare into "Wiltshire, and sufficient drawing materials, old faints and palettes confirm his intention of " a sketching holiday." , I should like to say here that I do liot consider him a lurid villain of fell intent-, seeking to'enmush a fair heiress, but only a quite ordinary, albeit handsome, ne'er-do-well, nearly down to his last, liail-crown, stalking an almost middle-aged fanner's daughter with a competence. The better part was not quite choked in him. He still had his emotions, has fine moments. his occasional Sincerities —and also his very occasional shames. He shouldered his own bag at the rural station when he alighted, asked tlio way to the village, and walked out into a liigh-hedged, liigh-bankcd green lane! Such a lane.. It was liay-harvest time, and tlie dog-roses and honeysuckle overflowed it. On either side, beyond the shrouding green hedges, lie could smell the hay and hear the creak of the moving wagons and rustic voices uplifted, whose owners were sweating and toiling in the June sun. A little way aheatl of him a woman on a brown pony turned suddenly out of a gateway and went on before liiiu at walking pace down the lane. Ho tramped 011 and looked at her back, very upright on the longtailed pony, and wished that he could see her face. This in spite of the fact that it was not a very interesting back to a man who was wont to sum up. .a woman's points with some fastidiousness. She was evidently not very tall. , though her shoulders were broad, and her careless skirt hung ungracefully and wrinkled where it should liot. Driver had been a connoisseur .of a liabit. Above the stiff linen collar was a knob of rust-brown hair, and above that an uncompromising hat. She dawdled along, and the pony snatched at the wisps of hay hanging" about the hedges where the heavily-laden wagons had passed. He quickened his pace to a run and overtook her. "Will yon be good enough to tell me if I am near a farm called, I think, • Sheppard's Farm:'" She checked her pony, and he stood at her stirrup and saw her face. A sudden surprise and almost excitement shook him. It was rather a square face, very composed, very plain, perhaps a little lined—and very highly distorted 011 the life side when she spoke. "My farm " —she had a strong Wiltshire "accent—"did you want to find it 0 "

I wanted to see Ivitc Sheppartl " - . She answered quite simply anci straightly: . '*! am Kate Sheppard. I have been out to the hayfiekl. We're very busy carrying. I am just going home. - It's quite close. If you have any business with me, you will come in and talk it over.''" Driver mapped out his plan of campaign, but he faltered a little under her* deep, considering eyes. I think it was that his rare shame overtook him for a brief instant —110 longer. ' " I—I —had 110 idea you were Miss .Sheppard, of course." Me was walking beside the pony, and shifting his 'heavy ba" from hand to hand. "'Hie I'act 'is I- -may I give you my card ?" He hunted for and found one. " I lie fact s 1 am—am spending a sort <>i wandering holiday,, and I want to do a "ood l)it of sketching, 111 and round Salisbury for preference—and—and I'm looking for rooms convenientlj

Salisbury's spire rose clearly on their r '"" I'm afraid there are no suitable rooms in the village here. Mr Driver.' She danced in a business-like nay :it the card in her hand on see 1 know it's resources pretty well. Ihe cottages don't cater lor visitors, and I happen to know that the inn is full just now." He sighed. "I didn't want to stay in bahsJ She jogged the pony and shortened her reins, as it to trot oil. '• I wish I could help yon, but-—-He made his bid, quickening his pare loi». , , ** JMea*** "'V(* nw anolli r iiiomciit. I hope 1 iini not detaining you : but the fact 1% I was- hoping till 1 4| „v von. when I wondered if it was ; vro „;—whether you'd take me m at the farm. I—the fact is, some friends of mine once stayed with vou. 1 tlunk —some years "go.' He blundeied a littlo It would l>o nwkward it she asked for Henhouse's naine. " And tiicv held out such—sum halcyon hopes to me that I thought I " 1!^ llt ;1 too If I" 1 M.-ss Shcpp.ud. vou' will forgive me. won t vou:- And —t.-ll me to tramp on to bahsbuiy. Mis smile was extremely ruelul. Jlc added : " In this heat She smiled too, stud said: -It is -'citing cooler, you know . But about the rooms. I have not let any since mv father died, some year, ago. Your friend must' have bee with us before then. I hi" l I don t caieto let mv rooms. I've re!used al lappli; cation's since. But—l don t know •• I shouldn't be the least nuisance, -lie said, with charming humility. She looked at him with undoubted interest in her deep eyes .. a,„l and vou could lot me leed in the kitchen if you liked —or in the stve with the other pigs."

, <* .• * 'jn"~ Slio laughed out, a laugh that twitched her distorted cheek, but with a marvellous ring of youth and freshness in it.

"Oh, certainly! I shouldn't let you worry me "

There was a. pause. lie dropped his bag to the ground suddenly and wiped his damp brows. " Bag's awf'ly heavy," he said, a little pale. The laugh went out, and there was nothing but divinest woman's kindness in her face.

"Hoist that bag up 011 my off pommel —so! The house is just round the corner. We'll put you up for tonight, any way, now you've walked here, and we can talk about to-mor-row. By 'we ' I mean my old servant and myself. Are you really very tired? See, here wo are —- —" A long low farmhouse, with flagged courtyard of cloistral coolness. He cried out genuinely: "Oh, what a paradise!" and saw her flush with pride and pleasure.

They had supper together in the low-ceiled parlour, waited on by a sturdy old woman, who seemed delighted at the advent of an unexpected guest. There were fowls, fruit and cream, and Kate pressed a famous cider upon him. She had changed her dowdy habit for a dowdier gown, and his critical eyes appraised her fastidiously. She may or may not have noted the scrutiny, but she was the kind of woman to be utterly impervious to it. . After the meal she took him to a little sitting-room, barbarously decorated with such historic remains j as starched antiinacassars and "ornaments" set on mats, where there was a piano. She seated herself before it, and indicated an eacy-chair.

" I generally play after supper to -myself," she said. "Stay if y°" like, and smoke if you like. But please do as vou like.' "Thank you. I will," 110 answered, and sat down to listen, a little ruefull v. ,

I In a moment, however, lie got up and quietly wheeled tlic armchair to her right side, because he had been facing her distorted elieek. It was a tiny action, and lie did it almost by instinct, more than a reverence tor a woman's seusitivenes, yet I think that was why, and when, Kate began to love hi ni. She made 110 sign of acknowledgment, and went 011 playing. Her music was an agreeable surprise. He had expected some intricate attempt, witli tortuous variations, badly executed. She played the simplest themes. One or two of Mendelssohn'_s songs, and presently a trifle of Chaminade's all sympathetically interpreted. He studied her, in her dowdy dress, with her brown hair pulled straightly back from her plain, piile face. Following the direction of her upward gae, lie found it fixed 011 a photograph of Edgar Senhouse, which stood 011 the top of the high-backed' old piano. Senhouse, before he was fat with ease of prosperity, and old before forty with worldly cares, and lusts. So 'she "played every evening to herself" — and Senhouse, did she?" "What dearsentimentalists women were! Suddenly she glanced round and saw him looking at the photo too, as a man meeting an old acquaintance. Install tlv she took her hands otr the keys. , , .. ~, "Do you know—that gentleman, she asked, a little pale. He shruddcred inwardly at tier it Edgar Senhouse r May I look closer ? I thought so. Ves, a little, you know. That is t, sav, I met him on the Continent i while ago. And his wife too. \W struck up quite a sort of tricndshi.. for a" time. She was awt : 1 v jolU t< me. Oh' and so was he. Charming chap. Senhouse!" Slie plaved a few distrait chortls. • " Is —is—she very pretty—-Mrs Senile shot a glanco at her face be tort he answered: " No —11 —110. Oh, no. . She .dropped her hands into lier lap again, where they nervously smoothed lier gown. . "Oh; but " she said, alter J pause, " 1 expect she is—and I expect you tnink so too. lam sure she must He murmured a little. protestingly, but really there was nothing to reply. Her air "was quietly considering. '•Tell me what she is like. He found 011 obediently recalling Rose to his consciousness, that sue seemed very far away—miles away years away. Quite removed from this plain countrywoman with her remote eves, and suddenly from lmnsell. He began: "Oh! a —a little butterfly of a woman, you know. Ulue eyes, and pink cheeliij and fair hair—a lot oi it fluffy. Very charmingly dressed, vuj vain, very frivolous, very heartless, lint he remembered her across tne breakfast table —"Oh! do let me you know Edgar gives me- ' AIKI —and —1 don't tlnnk there's any moie to tell vou about lier." '• What vou have said sounds delightful," said* Kate. " Shall wo say good-night!- 1 hope you will be very comfortable."

They had not "talked about to-mor-row. ."somehow it was some days before they did, and then 1"! had quiw cstaiilisheu Ins looting there. J hey seemed to fall at once into a certain pleasant intimacy, that, with his i-nci in view, he set iiimscll to tan into something hotter. for, remember, the man was nearly down to Ins Msi half-crown, anil lie could have paid for the food he ate and the root above Ins head, had llie matter been pressed. Here it would not be. pressed. J\a.e had, in quite a shrewd way, put times on a business looting, and tnen tiiej P were relegated to tne limbo oi a very vague Dy-aiid-by. On some days ne painted and sold cue or two slv.tches in Salisbury; others she spent Willi lvate, loitering about the liaylields and tlie garden after her. 'J lie lonely woman began to spend some very happy weeks. jJ river Knew Jiow to looacii tongues. telle talked to him more than she nail talked to any man lor ycais. am: was a woman sliv o> cNijressiun, but siiu VOKHU liiiil mitcu of her quiet philosophy, l-le I'ounH lumseit alne to l-.oiv i igot nuo a M-ry straight, simple, passionate mmd, and lie looked wii.ii cl 1" loreed reverence, and perhaps a little eieepmg s.iame. 'JU;u voungiiess of her was a petpot ual surprise to linn, blase sceptic as lie was. Under Her dawning old maiilisnis she had kept, unsuilieu, girl"ish enthusiasm and lueals. Her heart uas as the heart of a child still, in spite of the many sorrows she must have had—and at least one bitter lesson. She said to him one night, as they walKed, weary, together, lroin the havlieid after a late carrying:

■' Do you know, 1 fee I so young ;il times —so youny. A Vll y does one count liy tin; almanac '■ 1 think it's rather cruel. Surely, it is the soul's almanac that matters. On a like this " —the moonlight was flooding them —" or of a morning early, when 1 get up and Ko into my fields with the dew on them, 1 I illicit I>l—any voting girl a<j;ain. Am 1 foolishh . . . Then one looks into the nearest and sees the mistake . . . And. of course, you've noticed my face No! no! no! don't lie! I don't- want flattery from you. Not that I'm a woman who's over had much of it. Never a pretty woman like—oh! like —Rose Senhouso-,

for example. You said she was pretty." His perceptions were quick, and lie knew she must have weighed herself in the balance against her imagined Rose many times, and which .scale went up and which slid down.

"No—-I never said so." "But you showed it. Oh, do you think I don't know?" He suw her smile iu the moonlight. "It counts for such a lot —that —and youtli-j-of the body. Perhaps—some, day—l'll tell you a story " but he had already laughed over it with Rose at that Riviera breakfast—"of a time when a little more prettincss, and a year or two less '

She stopped, and Driver, communing with himself a moment, put a firm hand through her arm. "Or if God would have given me clearer sight- to see myself as men saw 111c —or withered my heart when he began to line my face "

Someone had said of Driver once that he was fully competent at any time to produce a handbook 011 feminine psychology, but it was pity, equally, with science, that moved him just then. "Do you know what I'm going to do with you to-morrow, Kate ? 1 think I may call you 'Kate.' mayn't 1? Do you know what I'm going to do with you to-morrow? We'll take a holiday, you and I —oh, the haymaking can just do without you one day!—and we'll go into Salisbury, and T shall help you choose frocks. Not just coverings, but frocks. At least two! You shall bo very extravagant." He loved dainty women. "I think 0110 will be a white serge —a well-tailored serge. And then — some dressmaker's thing, I think, soft and frilly and pink, to give you the shade of colour you want." He might have been a connoisseur designing garb for .Beauty. "Yes, certainly pink." It was really delightful—glamour perhaps of that wicked white witch above--but delightful. She thrilled, as withered hearts do not.

"Oli, pink! But I am too old for pink!" He scoffed softly.

"To 6 oldf Why don't tou add 'toe plain,' Kate? T wonder if there ever was, or ever will be, a less vain woman." And still God had not given her clearer sight. in. Kate came down to supper in the dressmaker's thing, soft and frilly and pink. A white serge, well tailored, hung in her wardrobe. Her cheeks and eyes glowetd with deeper colour. It must hare been one of her " very young" moments. They sat at slipper together, at' the little round table, with the window opened wide to< the soft night. A pessimist said. "All men i are liars," and Pilate asked, "AVhat is truth!'" It is so good to know that tho pessimist was gloriously wrong, and that Pilate could easily have found his answer had -he dared. Not from his courtiers and parasites, not 'perhaps at all in his palace and purple and fine linen. But go out into a quiet field under the stars, or into the greenwood where the Lord has His altars, where

An organ breathes from every grove;

take your problem there, and you will find Truth. Shs will hold communion with you, and show you what manner of man you are. There, are time and space alii silence there for heart-soarehings. Martin Driver, wandering and sketching, and driven, back into introspect-, cumc.. verj;. cjosie_ | to her often. If he painted a stream, she war. mirrored in the water. AYhen he went into the Cathedral to sketch the interior, she preached to him from a. holy place. Ho had to see and hear her in the quivering grass and trees, and birds, and winds of Heaven, in Kate's honest dumb animals, and very pungentlv in Kate herself. His earth—his restless, paltry, greedy earth—-had been no more. He saw it had a sky. He knew and did not like himself. Yet though he was disheartened in a measure, he must- still go through with it. 'For though he glimpsed- a sky, she was still beneath it, on his earth, where a man must replenish his pockets, and his art enabled him to drape indecorous Truth with some satisfaction to himself.* There was 110 doubt it would make this woman very happy. He saw her so, riiitieipatory, at supper, in the pink frock. When the meal was over ihoy stood at the window to-getlier. It was -a dark, hot night, full of fragrance, and mysterious abroad. "Oh. to bG young!" said Kate suddenlv. ' "Oh, to be young!" She was seeing the vanity , ot the moment, and tho pink frock. "You are the very youngest woman. 1 know," he answered. Site laughed a little, with 110 bitterness. , •• Not as men— or women—count J °Hc moved closer, till their shoulders touched as they leaned out together. What a night! "In such a night—- —" many things. II sho were onl\ younger, 01—less plain! J.ose s stupid little Unify head at his shoulder might have inspired a man but "Kate," he said, "Kate, will you marry me. I . . He had never been so inartistic, hut somehow he could not make love to Alter a very slight pause she answered: I'.ei'ore tliey said good-night she went into the little sitLiug-rooni, and returned with Senhouse s photo, and most of the new colour gone iroin liei " You remember, I said I should tell vou a storv some day, perhaps . . . It was about this photographOh! Truth —Truth —I ruth. He looked away. . . " J whs to ]uin 3 sJic said heroically. Silence. M " lle--he—jilted me. The man was sincerely, completely, terribly sorry. Kate juldcd^. " Anil —I—loved1 —loved liini 11,, I'iMuenihered loose's light voice running on: "She thought she must tell him, as he might wish to break. it oil' " He looked at Kate, and at the photograph in her trembling hand. He took it awav gently, and tore it roughly into little bits, that scattered the carpet. , , , "I wonder why you told me—dear, lie said hesitantly, put his arm round her, and for the first tune kissed That was the beginning of. Kate's two completely halcyon uccks. lV ' Some perverse imp «<" Satan prompted Driver to answer a recent loolish little letter from Kose .senhouse at Kate's writinji-tahlo ill the '"parlour, and to do it thus: You delightful little Rose—How verv dear of you to shed light upon 111 v darkness, to stretch out your pretty band from vour civilisation to me down here in the' wilds! You arc delieioiisl.v inquisitive. Yes, I am now engaged to the "Wiltshire heiress. \ou ask 111 jest, alas! I answer in earnest. Pity rne !' For though I believe my heiress is the epitome of all the virtues, candour compels me to answer you that

your imaginary picture of her tallies. Is she dowdyY you ask. Is she plain? Is she 110 longer young? Oh, you vicious little kitten, you! If you were as old as my heiress, and of like attractiveness, I should call you a ca —— Here the pen-nib spluttered and crossed hopelessly, and there being no other 011 the table, lie cursed a little softly, and hastened to his own room ill search of one. lb was almost 011 the lieels of his exit that Fate, that malicious old despoiler of content, sent Kate buoyantly into her parlour. She flung the door wide, and the draught rushed in to meet the breeze from the open window, and fluttered the letter from lier writing, desk to the floor. It caught her eye immediately. She was not usually careless over her correspondence. She moved to pick it up—glanced at it Truth —rampant-, brutal. She read it through . . . .Truth. She read more lines between the lines . . .

more Truths. Some seconds passed — some eternities. She read it through again,' although she was ail honourable woman, and the letter was not for her —only Martin writing to his delightful little Rose. The knives of pain darting into her heart twitched Lier grey face. Then Fate, thrusting her tongue into her cheek, sent Driver back to look upon this woman humiliated to the dust. She stood near the window in tho sunlight, swaying a little. She twisted something frantically in lier two hands.

"You —you—you wrote this?"

She held out the mutilated thing. Her lnouth worked. Her distorted cheek twitched fearfully. Her mad accused: " Jst tu ... ct tu ...."•

He was stricken quite dumb. " And I have read it all through " "Kate! I—l I my God, Kate!" She clutched suddenly with both hands at her side, swayed, toppled over, and dropped—an ungraceful neap —at his feet.

About two hours after, as twilight began to fall, and birds and beasts and creeping things without were homing, Driver was called upstairs from his frightful waiting below. Outside her door the old servant passed him weeping and ho met the doctor. He asked a quite, dumb question, and was answered.

"She wants you. ou will go in and be, careful. Though nothing matters, you understand. Still, you will be careful— —" It was eventime —and she, too, was homing, then ... The door was open. He went m, and someone closed it softly after him, and lvp went forward to the white bed in the corner. A'white bed in a white room which' a remote candle lit dimly. He fell down beside the bed oil his knees, not daring to look, and hid his face.

Her voice said from the shadows: " Get up —where 1 can see you." So he must get up, and sit on the bedside, and feel her eyes upon him, though he might still turn his face away. She said, almost in a whisper, '"that's it—that's better. I had not —told you anything—about these heart attacks " No. Koose had told him about the "crocky heart." " But what 1 want to say is—l made my will—the day after we were engaged. And you will see all yours!" Oh! then he cried out something—anything—nothing. After his own strange voice had died away, there was only a loud silence for si few moments. '

IVesently she ;said failingly : , - " I've been a fool again—forgotten ■the almanac. I should—have known —1 was too old —and too plan. Only God —counts by souls " Again he was so dumb. Again, when her voice trembled away, tho silence was so loud. He had not once looked at her. He was afraid. She was near Heaven, but it was a very human jealousy that cried, out suddenly: , "But—Rose —I can't let—her have vou both "

Then he found tongue to curse poor little stupid Rose Senhouse. Shei turned lier grey face slowly and stifflv to the wall, and lapsed into the state" we call unconsciousness. Rather, though was it a, supei consciousness. An exaltation from vhicli 110 earthly curse or prayer could drag her back. It shall not be said that this is a sorrowful ending to her story, for the winter was past. It was the Voice of the Beloved which she heard, and lie called her Mis love and His fair 011 c, and led her up and away. He counts by souls, and her forty years were to Mini but a watch in the night, for Mis Almanac is set not by times and seasons, but by .Eternity. Me looks 011 souls, and this one of Mis loveliest, which Mo had put into a common prison. 1 know tiiat Me took her Himself out of Gethsemane. 1 know that she walked with Him through the dusky Valley, unairaid, glimpsing tlic Sun be vend; a. beautiful woman, and a loved one, come triumphantly into her own. So she left Martin' Driver with what he had come lor, certain Dead Sea Fruit —" her lew potty acres, iici pig, aiul her cow."