The Argosy, August 1905 — page 72: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

How opportunity broke its rule, HE room was losing itself in twi- : light: there was a somber touch nm of shadow lighted by old gold; a melan- choly shaft of sun fell in a narrow line of pale yellow across the hardwood floor. It was a time for memories and / for dreams. Elinor, lying back in the shadowy recess of an easy-chair, felt it as she spread open with caressing fingers the ; letter in her lap. Her throat was con- tracting, her eyes were wells of tears, Bi the years of her waiting slipped from iy her as a garment, and with it she threw , off the cramping, clinging fetters of the : past. The thin, foreign paper, with its closely written lines, spelled only one ‘ sentence to her sharpened fancy: Lloyd was coming back—free! “Lloyd ”—her lips framed his name . with whimsical tenderness. For the | first time since his marriage she could ; » i ; ; : iP te} : eall him that without feeling the ghost of their love rising before her threat- eningly, to close it with the terrible dearness of outlawed possession. The little futile figure of his wife, with all her immature affection and unreasoning jealousy, had been swept forever from the horizon. She was dust! For the first time Elinor thought of her with pity. She seemed to be at the beginning of things—to see, with eyes that had hitherto been accustomed only to darkness, the broad, beautiful way of . afuture remade. In the light of it the past grew less a thing of bitterness. She could look back upon it as one looks on _ a grave grown green. fas _ And it had all come right after all! There had been no dim hope to lure her _ _-—«-on; she had never thought of him ex- ss! cept as of some one irretrievably lost; she had even kept down the sin of wish- rent, till into the bare lone- * quiescent life had fallen wim Vel bev tl a oe © ‘ S += = nn age s ia THE SPACE BETWEEN. BY ALICE GARLAND STEELE. knocked twice at the same gate, and what came of it. It said very little. His wife had died at Nice in December—it was now April —and he was coming home to her free. If she had waited, it might be as if their parting had never been—and they could marry at once, and forget. In a sudden passion of joy she crushed the paper in her fingers, bruising 1b with the strength of her remembrance. She got up, carrying it to the light that she might read it again with a more con. plete interpretation. | And between the lines she read his | love—that was to make up for all—all— | all! The whole gray tragedy of her un- crowned maidenhood was vindicated! | “© Elinor? 2 } She turned quickly. | “Oh, Martin—is it you? Come in!” Her voice held a vibrant note quite new to him—he was keenly ative to it, as he was to every change in her. He came in quietly, as one accustomed to the threshold, and, laying aside his hat and cane, seated himself by the win- dow. The light of it fell in unflattering clearness across his large-featured face. Ehnor, glancing at him, smiled to herself—it was so palpably the face of a friend—there was so little about him of the lover. She went over to a center-table, where a crystal lamp stood. “Shall I light it?” she asked. “ Or will you wait till the tea comes in?” He watched her white hand playing with the globe against a background of shadow. “Don’t,” he said. “ This light is per- feet, and any way I’ve only a minute to stay. I just dropped in on my way from the club to see—well *—he laughed a trifle nervously—” to see you, you know —and all that.” oe She crossed over to the easy-chair, — eee herself back in it with a 8) a Rey ish,” re hee) J wish,” she said, © . ¥ a! i Grete Salma comicbooks.com