Love that was Born of Bitterness. (FOR THE FREE LANCE CHRISTMAS NUMBER.)

Free Lance, Volume V, Issue 233, 17 December 1904, Page 29 (Supplement)

Love that was Born of Bitterness. (FOR THE FREE LANCE CHRISTMAS NUMBER.)

ALONG the big city streets, amoaierst the noise and. the rattle of traffic, and the thousand 1 light*, suck a crowd of people as only congregates on a Christmas live trailed and followed) from, corner to corner, ajad talked, aaid laughed and, was happy. Fair away horn tne noise and] the jostle, and faither fc.tail ircran tlie happiness, a uuuii 6tood beside a gpufll. Jielow them the t>ea spJaished and splattered) amongst tine rocks, and above them, a muLlion start* toidi a nmJhon ston.es to him who could iirt Ins soul near enough to hear. The Maui had dipeam of such a njigjht. Fen sham the G-ixl was tlhe beginning and the end of vfomandom, the picture which he had wondered if the gods would eijer paint for him. A man swayed by a thousand impulses, bis heart beat tune to a golden song when first she came — beat high and fearless until a mood swept him and made him shiver with fears. "Why should he be fool enough to thank hei bettor than others? — all fools thought that in their folly. Why b© saddled with resposnsibfiilities, and, probably, regrets? "Yet, had' he not led! her to believe that she was Heart's Desire? Had 1 he mot told her so the night her hair swept his face and he had kissed her swiftly? Curse it, why had he not accepted her as he had accepted others^ — without preference? Why did he ever say thnmgs thai he would have to unsay ? He was a fool, a fool, a fool!" And so he had 1 brought the Girl dowin into the star-softened darkness, into a night that he had dammed' of for the gloaming of the sweetness of his life, to tell her that thev must turn their backs upon the pathway he bad guided) her to as the road to love andi bapoiness ; to tell her that there was ™ pathway to happiness, and'tha,t along the dusty and ■cheerless roads that led to nothing they must travel alone. From across the water came the ■olock-clook of rowlocks, and the lingering, oaressinsr laugh of a girl. The Man's bitterness thiait had' been Tjurnine his heart flooded to his lips "What a lie laughter is," hie said . "what a palpable lie! Some people

laugh wliei'e they do n.ot understand to oloak tihear ignorance, some where they have no* heard, m order bo leave the understanding that they did heau , some where they are too cowardly to combat a statement . some to hide their tears, and some because the littleness of their souls demands to be hidden under loud, biiortmg sounds. Bah ' Laughter should only be the followei of humouii , 01 happiness, oil' love, mud' there isn't any humour, the,ie isnt any happiness, and, most of all, there isn't any love " He felt the Girl's body shrink. Her hand groped its way to his arm, and her eves searched him deeply for his meaning The Man shifted hi£ eyes uncomfortably, and tihe first note of weakness crept into has voice. "WeiM," he continued, anxious to come to terms with the look on her face, "Jove does and does not exist. When I spoke of love I was thinking of the word in its application to a man and! a giorl. That kind of love is a, hoary, over-fed myth , it is the stock-in-trade lie of writers and singer®. Personally, I think it is the. outcome of too much or too little reading, the longnug for novelty, and the pandering to pndle which every human being indulges in. It is a> peculiar outcome I—very1 — very pretty under tihe hmeliignt of tJhe poets, very tawdry under the daylight that the practical world hliazes on it. It is an unaieoessary foolishness, a cause that creates a thousand', thousand evil results ; it is a great sacrafioial pyre, and never forget, that .great truth tlhat if you begin by saorifiemg yourself to those you love you will end by ihatamg those to whom you have sacrificed yourself." "I do not like you to talk like that," said the Girl : "everything would be horrible if it were as you say. The bitterness of it — " "You make the bitterness yourself," he said quaokly, and daring her eyes steadily. "Your theory of love vs a bubble You coax it to expand, softly, gen/bly, and resplendent m colours. It grows under unnatural pressure until sooner or later it bursts. Then, because you are human vou blame the bubble." The Girl drew awav from him. "I do

not like your simoihes," she said. "Logically—" The man moved lrnp&tieaitly. "Child," he said, "don't dirag that word into the argument. Whenever I hear a woman commence a sentence with the word 'logically 3 I feel as if a boy was in the vicinity, bieakmg open a box of dynamite with an axe." Her eyes clouded, and he knew she was growing angry. That, of all things, must be avoided, because tears would ajssuredly follow the anger, and he knew if ©he oned he was lost and given over. He tumbled his thought® about hurriedly in the search foi something to stave off the dan/ger. The first words that came to hasbraan slipped to his tongue, and he found himeelf saying . "A tamaa being is very like an empty salmon tin. Both are tossed into the world to become the victim^ of Circumstance and the football of Chance. The tin is the more fortunate of the two ; it has no custom®, no rules and regulations, and, no beaten paths to follow. No other salmon ton will come along with a love story stolen from some prior salmon tin, and demand senseless discomfort and sacrifice in the paddock." "But, men do not steal their love stones," said the Girl. "Not willingly," replied the Man. "I believe they search honestly for the love story of which tihe dreamers speak, but how shall they find wiha-t is not there? Each one, however, feels tha/t the failure to find xt is pecuiliar to himself, and fears to admit tihe fact lest the other humane lay chair ges of eooenftirLcdity. So, like theor forefathers, tihey pretend 1 to have found the love story, and mam and woman have been walking bo long down the highway of pretence tlhat they have forgotten there is any othetr road." The olook-clocik of tihe rowlocks had all but died away, but across tihe sea crept the rise and fall of a girl's: voice wi a crooning saner. T!h e glorious softness of the might s>wept gently over the Man, and he grew salent, lest the tone of his voice anger the gods. The Gill's heart swung heavily li'ke lead. It seemed to 'her a shameful thing that she, who had hidden her love from all others, should have unclothed it to a man who did not understand, to a man who had yeeteirday all but kissed her lips, a,nd to-dlay struck her heart, blow upon blow. "I am cold," she said, turning to the

Man, and he knew that her lips were quivering. Again across the water, out of the night, came the gentle, oroonuig notes, and the girl's heart flooded. "Why should others be happy ? Was there any happiness? Ah, no; there could be no happiness , the man was right — it was all make-believe." She turned 1 her head away, and said, almost in a whisper, "Take me away ; I am oold." The man's heart smote mm. It seemed' to him that he saw enacted befor him the tragedy of a life — the murder of a beautiful thought. Sorrow for the girl crowded 1 thickly upon him. He turned. "Why do you not draw your oloak closer?" he asked'. "It matters not," she answered, indifferently. The man's arms ached to pull down the cruelties his tongue had budlt into heir future; his heart ached for himself. He thought of the verse, " Thou art my love, And thou art a tinsel thing, And I broke thee easily, And from the little fragments Arose my long sorrow — Woe is me ! " He drew her nearer, and buttoned her cloak very gently. "You have made me miserable tonight," she said, looking ait. him wistfully. "It seems as if it were the last night m the wotrld, yet it is only a year dying. How many more years wall theTe be — how many more Christmas The Man re-arranged' the collar of her cloak, touching the warmth of her neok as he did so. "How oold your hands are," the wart Band. She bowed) her head over them, and he felt the bitter tears, that would! not be kept back any longer, faM. Then because the honesty of has ineasrt knew nothing of the tawdry cynicism of his tongue, he gathered! the Grin-i up ever so gently to his lips. "Forgive me, little one," he saidl; count not the foolishness of words amd bitterness of language as truth. Count it only as a bandage that was blinding my own eyes. m The city lights dimmed and faded. "The night is nearly done, dear," said the Girl, regretfully. "Ah," sadd the Man, "I was thinking of a new world that was bom.' The Girl crushed her lips, to his moutih.