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To-day's Short Story.

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To-day's Short Story. .THE OTHER ONE "It was a queer story; if it had not been funny, it would have been tragic—that story of my uncle's' love affair." "YOUT uncle! Well, if ever a man looked matter-of-fact '• Oh, bat he was young once—back in the fifties, and quite as sentimental as everyone else in the fifties." "Well, aren't you going to tell it?" He was young and very callow. More- over, he was a country boy, who had drudged early and late on his father's farm and worked his way through college and the study of law, and never looked at a woman except from a respectful distance. With his load of learning as heavy on his head as a helmet, he started west to seek his fortune in the spirit of a knight eager to face the dragons. In a, little city not far away along the stage road lived a class-mate of his, who, happening to see him beside the driver as the coach pulled up at the inn for dinner, made him halt with him for the day and night. It chanced that there was to be a dance that evening at the house of the loaal magnate, a pillared mansion, set on a hill. The shy youth paled and trembled when his friend suggested taking him, and would have fled if there had been wheels to carry him. But he was confronted by a man of the world and a philosopher. How do you expect to get on in a new place if you make a recluse of yourself?' demanded this mid-oentury student of life. 'You've got to get acquainted with people if you wanted to practice law, and you may as well begin. Come along! I'll introduce you to the prettiest pair of Bisters this side of the Alleghanies.' "This was more terrifying than ever, but sihame held back the confession. His will roee against the social facility of his c mate, who had never dared patronise him at college. He would show him that he could told his own in the new field. So he donned hi3 precious Sunday suit, tried to stifle the. sense of splendour which always subdued him in it, and set forth with a quaking heart, but a staunch soul. The house cm the hiLl was gaily lighted, and the night was bold with music and revelry. The stately verses of poets came back to him as he crossed the portico between the columns and entered the spacious hail. Azid the two young hostesses seemed fair indeed, when they greeted him, robed in fleecy white as of clouds. And one was dark, but the other, the younger, was as golden as the morning star above the clouds. And she took his hand, this ahining creature, and made him welcome, and led him to her friends. He was overpowered by the grace and beauty of her, struck speechless by the music of her voice. He longed to be on a green bank and hear bier talk, flow like a brook and dance into laughter over the stones. He was content to watch, her in silence, sitting tall and straight on the slippery haircloth chair, while she danced until suddenly a great emotion blinded him, and he felt tha.t he would give all his learning-a,li the Lartin and Greek he had worked so hard to acquire—for the power to waltz like the little stripling who clasped her. "That was all he remembered of that evening—a sense of having sat big, and dumb, and stupid, with this new fever in his brain, while the world whirled round in front of him. He was vaiguely conscious afterwards of trying to talk, of wandering out of doors among the bushes with the dark-haired hostess, who chatted and asked him questions, and of looking hard, like an idiot, at the woman who had excited him, his brain 'bursting with the need of telling her, his tongue dry and stony and immovable. The bonds of habit could not be wrenched so suddenly asunder. He said a shy good-night without a word of his emotion, and passed out under the stare, his soul as big as the night. "He listened while his companion talked about the sisters pondering over his high- flown phrases. They were witty and gracious and beautiful—this <ia,rk-eye'd Eva and Lillian of the golden locks. They had travelled— they had seen the world—they had lovers at their feet by the score. And the new-made lover cast all these wonders like a halo about the brow of Lillian the fair, and thought no more of her sister tluMi one thinks of shadows of the dawn. "The strange emotion travelled with him on the morrow, and made itself at home in iJ:ú6 heart. And he gave it an honest welcome, and began at once to plan for it a life-long (hospitality. Some day he would tell her; he had visions of kneelim-g at her feet and saying eloquent things about the immor- tality of love. And when he reached the poor, little mud-bound city of Chicago, every day's work was work for her, and her face was the motive power behind his fervent energy. In those days success came easily to the youmg and 4Dagor and before many weeks he saw the path of fortune widening before bimr--tha little fortune that was enough to start with. He felt strong in his work--so strong that he longed to bear her onward with him to the vague high brightness he would win her. One day, with Mre in his heart, he 'WI' ).e to her, after many trials, a formal little Tnid-century epistle, which began, Dear Madam,' talked about his esteem and her graciousness, and begged that if she retne-n- ixjred one so unworthy of her regard, she would deign to vouchsafe a word of v&y-z- nition to her most obedient, loyaJ, and humble servant. "Weeks passed with the letters then, be that he had time to despair befo-e lis Btnswer came, time to mature the thrill which it aroused in him. It was a stiflf little maidenly billet, written on shiny pink paper, with the finest of pens, the finest of hands, and it assured him of her remem- brance and of her desire to hear of his ad- ventures in the distant wilderness he had chosen. And so the correspondence pros- pered across the lakes and prairies toward the setting sun, for only the flaming spaces could meet the glory in his heart. He was engaged. "May I end the story here?" End it, what is the tragedy?" "The tragi-comedy. It is a pity to tell it. Well-when the world was all June for him be went back east for his bride over the Id roa-d with the old hope, in the new joy. And the bride who awaited him, the maiden who stood proudly, all tender, and blushing to greet him was-the dark-haired sister." lThe wrong one?" "The wrong one. His friend's tongue had flipped over the names, that wae ail." "All! What did he do?" "He married her like a man, and she never knew it." "Bat how?" "Oh, there was a critical moment of faint- ing and incoherence—why not with joy. He was taken to his room, he fought out his battle alone and faced his duty. The golden- haired sister was bridemadd. "But, surely, your atuit used to have golden Jhodr?" "Yes—you see, truth is so much more won- derful than fiotion-sometimes. It was written that my Aunt Eva should die after a few years of happnaaees." "Happiness! "Whatever my uncle does he does well, you know. She died, and then he told Aunt Lillian the whole story." "And she had been waiting for him?" "Waiting! She never suspected; she had had two or three love affairs. But they had gone wrong, and ahe ended by having him."

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