Reno — a Book of Short Stories and Information

by Lilyan Stratton

PART 2

RENO TRAGEDIES

Mrs. Smith did her little six months in Reno and the world's sympathy was with her, and the recording angel, I dare say, winked solemnly to himself and said: "Another domestic tragedy!"….

It is certainly a tragedy to be told outright by the husband one has borne children for and has been a good wife to, and has loved and cherished for the best part of one's life, to "cash in one's old face and make room in his heart and home for a younger and more fair." This was the case, apparently, with the Smiths.

And yet during my short stay in Reno, I have heard of more tragic cases than that of Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Smith had been left her child and money. We can't buy happiness with money, it's true, but we can at least buy comfort, and that is something after all. I knew of a different case where there was no money to buy comfort: a mother, with a baby in her arms and the one desire in her heart, to make it legitimate before it should grow old enough to understand….. I met this heart broken mother in a hospital in Reno, six years after her arrival there. I had heard about her and went to see the child.

"The divorce colony, all frivolity and gaiety," you say? Pardon me, I know better!

This devoted mother had loved the father of her child. She had left an impossible husband and gone with a man who had shown her sympathy, kindness and love when her life was all unhappiness. She had fought bravely for her freedom, but for some reason had been unable to obtain it. The months had dragged into years, the woman toiling day by day in a shop to support herself and baby, until years of work and worry had claimed their prize at last, and she had fallen ill; and it was then I heard of her and went to see her. I could still see traces of beauty in the now hardened lines about her mouth and sunken eyes. It has been said that "absence makes the heart grow fonder," but alas! there are too many cases where "absence makes the heart grow… yonder." The man whose wife she had hoped to become forgot her in less than a year and passed out of her life….

I shall never forget the day I saw this fatherless child, with her little pale face, rose-bud mouth and big brown eyes, which when she lifted them to mine were filled with unshed tears. I knew that this little lonely child of fate understood…. even at the age of six. I just wanted to take her in my arms and cry….

One beautiful morning a mother arose and called at the door of her daughter's bedroom. What, no answer? She opened the door and looked in. Why, the bed had not been slept in! The mother knew that Marjory had been despondent of late, and she knew why. Can you imagine the icy hand that gripped that mother's heart when she looked upon the empty couch. An hour later Marjory's beautiful young body was found floating in the stream that runs through the University grounds among the green trees, with sunshine filtering through and the birds singing their glad notes of life among the leafy branches. As pure and sweet as a desert lily, and as dainty as an apple blossom was this daughter of Nevada. He who said "Truth is stranger than fiction" well nigh spoke truthfully indeed.

Why wish to leave, Marjory, when you possessed youth, beauty and loving friends; when the month was June and all the world rejoiced? Indeed, why?

If Marjory's stiffened lips could have answered, she would have said:
"Yes, but my lover proved untrue: yesterday he was married to the
Queen of the Divorce Colony; today they are on their honeymoon, and I
am in the great unknown…."

It is between the hours of twilight and night. The last fading light of the setting sun is reflected upon the waters of the Truckee River, in a silvery, rose-tinted hue, indescribable in its delicate beauty. There is a strange lady seated on the veranda of an imposing Colonial home overlooking the river. She is writing; sometimes she stops to gaze upon the glory of the sunset with great dreamy eyes, whose depths seem unfathomable. How the soft twilight glow enshrines her face! But now the sun has disappeared, yet the light seems still to cling about her beautiful form. In a brighter light you might see that her lips are crimson with the glow of youth, though her face is pale. Her hair, parted in the middle and dressed straight back, and her white gown give her the appearance of a Madonna. In her bodice, she wears a white rose which from time to time she caresses in a dreamy fashion…..

Just here Eileen—her name is romantic isn't it?—is attracted by a young man who comes up the street whistling as he walks full of the joy of youth and life. He runs up the steps, two at a time. The lady on the porch lifts her eyes just one moment, but womanlike she sees much in a glance. She sees that his eyes are of a wonderful dark blue; that his hair is thick and wavy; and that he is tall, straight and strong. How lithe and supple he seems, too, as he runs up the steps and disappears into the house. Has he seen the lady Madonna? She does not know. There is indeed something strange about this dark haired man; something out of the ordinary and fascinating….

The Holbrooks had been immensely wealthy at one time but owing to gambling and unsuccessful mining deals their fortune had dwindled, and at the death of Mr. Holbrook his widow had found that her sole possessions consisted of a beautiful home and three lovely children. Eileen Reed had come to Mrs. Holbrook with a letter of introduction from a friend in the East, and had been taken into the home for the period of her exile.

It was young Holbrook who had tripped up the steps and entered the house without apparently seeing her. Having a keen woman's understanding, I wondered if this apparent ignoring of the lady's presence was not what first caused her keen interest in the young man, for Eileen was not accustomed to being ignored. She bore her crown of beauty with added brilliance and grace because of the passing years, and was fully aware of her power to sway the will of those about her, and move the hearts of men with her irresistible charm and perfect splendor, alike persuasive, compelling and all-powerful.

She had never really loved: a poor girl of a respectable family, she had taken up nursing; had married a wealthy doctor, and had been in the position of the penniless but beautiful wife of a rich husband.

At dinner Eileen was presented to young Holbrook. I happened to be a guest at dinner on that particular evening, and noticed a slight effort on the part of the new arrival to interest the young man. However, young Holbrook was cordially polite only. After dinner they sauntered out on the piazza and chatted, for some time. During the conversation, Eileen got the impression that if he had expressed his opinion about divorces, it might not have been altogether complimentary. He had grown up in Reno and for more than fifteen years had seen the divorcees appear and vanish, and oh!—what a tale he could have told.

However, he evidently thought this woman different or at least out of the ordinary, and he was right; she was a most unusual and unusually interesting woman.

They drifted into a rather serious conversation; they spoke of the old-fashioned chivalry; the profound respect men had for women in the old-fashioned bygone days; he spoke of his father with so much reverence, dignity and pride, and this boy-man with all his premature experience, gave Eileen glimpses into a soul, into his soul, which was pure and clean and good.

Eileen was rapidly becoming interested in this young head of the household; she found herself listening most attentively to every one of his words. After hearing nothing but silly wordly chatter for years, it seemed good to listen to this man who seemed to have absorbed all the romance and mystery of the land of his birth. At one time he would speak like a boy of twenty; the next moment like a man of forty; always there seemed to be present two personalities, one the care-free, happy boy, the other the all-wise, far-seeing man, with a keen intellectual understanding of every phase of life.

So much were these two people interested in each other that neither noticed that it had grown quite late and a little chilly. Eileen shivered slightly and rather unconsciously; young Holbrook noticed it.

"Why, you are cold, and it is late; I am sorry I did not realize it," he broke out in astonishment as he glanced at his watch; "really you must forgive me for keeping you up!"

He extended his hand as he bade her good night. Eileen returned his good night in her most charming manner, though rather mechanically; something had come over her; she did not know it, but for the first time in her life she seemed to have fallen in love….

Much to my surprise and strangely enough after that evening these two people seldom met and were never alone together; it seemed to me as though young Holbrook avoided Eileen without seeming to do so. I could not understand his attitude unless he felt himself slipping and was trying to avoid temptation. I felt that his apparent indifference only served to fan the flames in Eileen's heart. She struggled with her wounded pride though there never was any outward sign of her feelings until she became ill.

The first day's illness brought a gorgeous bouquet of red roses. "Oh, why did he do that, and why did he send red roses, the emblem of love and passion?" and why did Eileen clasp them madly to her heart and drink in their sensual sweetness? For three long weeks Eileen lay ill with burning fever, and always there were fresh red roses, but he himself did not come until Eileen began to convalesce. And one day he came and stood by her couch, and looked down, at her. He saw that she was paler, but the lips were still as scarlet as the petals of the American Beauties on the table by her side. The rose-colored light cast a glow over the prettiest breast and shoulders God had ever moulded! They said very little; it would be interesting to know what their thoughts were…..

Shortly after Eileen came out of the hospital she sent a little token of appreciation to Mr. Holbrook, in recognition of his unfailing kindness during her illness. That same evening they met, by chance, and as he clasped her hand and thanked her for the little gift, the pressure of his hand sent a strange thrill to her heart; she stammered something in a tremulous voice and rushed away. Later in the evening they met, shall we say again "by chance", at dinner. They danced together, and the pressure of his strong arms nearly maddened Eileen…. Oh, why do we play with fire and why is forbidden fruit so sweet!

A strange woman this, with her dual personality: a Madonna and a lover of all things good and beautiful, but a Cleopatra when the passionate fires of her soul were stirred; and this night, a passionate love that lacked all reason, dominated everything else in her being. When they had parted and she was alone in her room, sleep refused her offices: twelve: one: two…. and her eyes still were staring into the darkness…. Not a sound; all was quiet. She rose from her couch, her hair streaming, her body all aglow. She donned a flimsy, rose-colored dressing gown, opened her door, crept silently down the hall and went bodily into young Holbrook's room. In a dressing gown and slippers he sat, reading a magazine; he must have been restless, too. "Why Mrs. Reed—Eileen—what is the matter?"

"The matter is, Boy, that I love you with all my heart and soul." And as he held her in his arms he whispered: "And I love you."

For the first time since he had held her in his arms early that evening her reason asserted itself for a moment, and she pressed her hand over his lips to stifle the words. She had thought of poor little Marjory and her white face in the stream, and of a thousand other reasons why they should part. There were sacred promises on both sides to be kept. "But be mine," she pleaded, "just for tonight."

He held her in his arms; she was his very own, and she counted his heart-throbs as they beat against her breast. He scented the perfume of her breath against his cheek, and drank deep of the wine of her red lips, as she whispered again her sweet confession through a mist of tears…. "The Woman Thou Gavest Me!"

No one could better grace love's throne, nor rule more royally. Voice so low and tender and heart so warm, all herself she gave, and gladly, thoughtlessly, recklessly. Is it true that all humanity means to do right though often wrong: that the heart at times must obey the mandates of circumstances and environment: that even the purest and best succumb to temptation? Another day, and reason rules!

He was engaged to a girl who had been his little sweetheart as far back as he could remember. He had carried her books and pulled her sled and fought her battles, and now he surely would never break her heart. There is duty; an invention of the Devil, but it must be met, though hearts break and burn; though we wander through a desert of hallowed love and damning desire. This dream was to end. For months those two beings faced their little world with only a nod as they passed by; not even as much as a hand-clasp. Who can tell what the man thought, or if he cared? But the woman wept out her sorrow in my arms. Confession is good for the soul, so it is said; there is joy in a heartache sometimes, and sweet content in tears. She told me how she lay awake and listened for his footsteps. If he came into the room her heart would almost cease beating. She almost fainted once when she met him coming in with his fiancee… but in silence she suffered; pride and duty ruled.

"How exquisitely he tortures me," she said. "He uses roses as his weapons…. But what think you of this my friend? I shall bear his image into life! What matter laws and customs, and sins forbidden…. I shall be happy again when I hold my baby in my arms"….

So terribly shocked was I that I could only gasp in amazement, but when I looked into the face of the woman, behold…. the Madonna!

There seemed to be a spiritual light illuminating her face and she was far away in the land of dreams, looking into the face of her blue-eyed baby; born of a great, great Love, sacrificed to Duty. Life…. What a tragedy! Fate, did you say? Thank God for Time, the healer of all wounds. As someone has said: "Never a lip was curved in pain that could not be kissed into smiles again!"

Just half an hour before she was leaving Reno, as we were dropping the last of the little silver toilet articles into her small traveling bag, and gathering up the odds and ends here and there, the telephone rang. At Eileen's request I answered. A manly voice said: "Mr. Holbrook speaking; I would like to come and pay my respects to Mrs. Reed if she has a few minutes to spare, and will permit me!" Of course she would, poor girl; she looked as though heaven had suddenly opened and beckoned her enter. I left them alone.

Whatever was said must have taken the bitterness out of the parting, because it was a sweet-souled, courageous girl that joined me ten minutes later, to take her departure for life's everlasting battle fields; to begin anew. Perhaps she knew his love would crown the awaiting beyond with divine fulfillment……

When I saw her off on the Eastbound train, she answered my questioning look by taking a small photo from her bodice—"No, I have not forgotten," she said with a smile that was more tragic than all the tears the world has ever shed. "Here, next my heart, I shall carry my love always, but there is his duty and mine, and so much do I love him, that I want to bear all the pain myself…."

Being a trained nurse, Eileen when she got her divorce went to France with several other Red Cross nurses, "where," she said, "I shall try to mend my broken heart while I help to patch up some of our mutilated soldier boys. My only hope is that I may be of some use, and I feel sure that my own miserable little wail of bereavement will get lost in the shuffle, when I am face to face with the tragedies of the battle fields…"

Shall we forgive her? Yes, if we follow the teachings of the Nazarene….. I sometimes hear from Eileen; she is somewhere in France, and so is young Holbrook, I am told! I may yet continue their story some day. Methinks it is a promise; a whisper across the miles of unrest; a pledge of the fulfillment of a prayer; a surety for tomorrow's sunshine! Already I can see a smile in the East: may I hope, and hoping believe?….

"To Helen, my full blown rose, spirit of perfect womanhood, my inspiration and guide; to her whose love exceeds all others, to her memory I bow my head in everlasting devotion and admiration…."

Thus spoke a man who had watched the train disappear eastward with the body of his sweetheart, four years prior to the writing of this book. When I think of all the tragic stories of the divorce colony, Helen's was perhaps the most pathetic. She was the daughter of a wealthy family in New York State. She ran away when only sixteen, and married a man whom she thought she loved, and for years she struggled to find happiness, ignored by her people because of her choice of a husband. She found herself poverty stricken and unloved, paying the price of her folly. What a pity that we must be young and know too little, and then grow old and sometimes know too much! Ideals are simply mental will-o'-the-wisps, of which we are always in pursuit, but which we see realized but seldom.

For ten long years this woman faced neglect, humiliation and days and nights of anguish in her efforts to fulfill her duty, until she could stand it no longer, and crept back to her father's door to ask forgiveness. The millionaire father sent her to Reno, with ten dollars a week to live on, and a promise of forgiveness if in future she would promise to live according to his wishes. Poor little Helen! For years her heart had been starving for love, and now Reno meant to her the call of honor and duty, the sworn obligation of her family. But, alas, Helen was beautiful: a girl who had only just become a woman; whose sufferings had only served to develop a strong personality with an intangible charm; whose whole being suggested unnumbered possibilities of mind and character. Her face was like a lily, so fair, and almost classic, yet showing unmistakably the warm heart and emotional nature of the woman. A wealth of golden hair that crowned her regal grace, and eyes that had stolen the tenderest blue from a turquoise sky beneath the shade of modest lashes. Appealing lotus-like lips, rosy- ripe and moist with the dew of promised bliss; sensuous curves and graceful feminine lines….. such a woman was Helen. And he! Six feet of Western manhood; a graduate of Yale, and still an athlete at 35. A man with the highest ideals of fine, clean, strong manhood. He had gone West shortly after leaving college and had made his fortune, but he liked the West and its people, and there he made his home. The rough mining life he had led had worn off a little of the drawing room polish of his younger years, which made him even more fascinating, and something had turned his raven-black hair just a little bit gray at the temples.

This man sat in a lawyer's office one afternoon, his wide brimmed Stetson pulled low over his eyes, and a cigar between his teeth, when a rather timid little blonde lady entered. He removed both cigar and hat and stood up. Jack Worthington was the man, and he was presented to Helen by his old friend, Dick Sheldon, who was also Helen's lawyer.

Were you ever alone in a strange land, sitting between the four walls of a barren, stuffy room with the blue devils swarming thick around you? That had been the case with poor little Helen for two long weeks before her meeting with Jack Worthington.

Two whole weeks!….it had seemed an eternity to this beautiful woman, with the wreckage of her youth staring her in the face: a youth which should have been all sunshine and flowers. She had risked all for the price of love and lost….

"Gee! Some woman!" said Worthington to Sheldon when the door closed upon Helen, after a private consultation with the lawyer.

"What's the matter, old boy; captured at last, after all these years? Well, they say: 'the longer you wait, the harder the blow!' But I'll have to hand it to you, you're a good picker. That little woman is an angel if there ever was one in Reno, and you will be a lucky boy if you can win her!"

Two days later there was a little dinner given at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon, and strange to say, Helen and Worthington were among those present. From that time on it was Jack who chased away the shadows and kept Helen amused. There was something wonderfully sweet and soothing about this strong, self-reliant man of the West. Life cannot exist without sunshine, and this man was slowly becoming the sunshine of Helen's life, with each walk in the moonlight along the banks of the Truckee, and with each ride through the wonderful, silent places, while they enjoyed Nevada's matchless sunsets, and glorious freedom of open country.

[Illustration with caption: GLENBROOK]

In spite of all Jack could do in the way of chasing away the shadows, Helen continued to grow more like the lily and less like the rose. It was terribly hot in Reno as the summer months came on, and there were reasons why Helen could not have all the comforts. Worthington, with his thousands, was hopeless. She should be up to the lake where the cool, fresh breezes could fan the roses back into her cheeks, but how could he manage it?

"I know, I shall have the Sheldons go up to their camp at Glenbrook, and invite us up for the week."….

The very next morning a very sweet feminine voice called Helen over the 'phone. "Good morning, Helen dear, aren't you nearly cooked? Yes, I know it's a hundred and ten in the shade. I say, dear, Mr. Sheldon and I have a cozy nook up at Glenbrook, on Lake Tahoe. Won't you come up and spend the week with us there?…. Oh, yes, we will call for you at 8 A.M. tomorrow …. Oh, no, don't thank us, you will be so welcome…. All right, good-bye."

When Helen tripped lightly down to the big touring car the next morning, she showed no surprise when Jack jumped from the back seat and assisted her to a place by his side. It was a gay party that landed at the camp a few hours later. Did these two people know that they had grown to love each other? There had been no word of love spoken between them but that night they went for a row on the lake of many colors, just as the sun dropped over the hills and the moon shone out in all its glory. Mr. and Mrs. Sheldon stood on the shore and watched them with a knowing smile. Jack was the salt of the earth, and he meant so well…. He did not mean to speak to Helen until she was free, but alas! for the infinite cry of infinite hearts that yearn. For weeks and weeks, when the days were the darkest, it had been Jack who happened along just at the right moment with a book or some flowers, accompanied by a funny story or a joke, some little kindness that would brighten the path a bit. What a mixture he was, of tenderness and brusqueness; of common sense and poetry; of fun and seriousness, this adopted son of the sagebrush. These were Helen's thoughts as she watched his strong body bend gracefully over the oars, which sent them flying through the sapphire water of Lake Tahoe.

Already the color was beginning to appear in Helen's cheeks and she looked happier and more bewitching than ever before. "An angel pointing the way to Paradise," thought Jack. They discussed the moon- kissed glades and leafy woods of shadowland. Did they know that in each leafy bough Cupid awaited with love's weapon poised? Jack drew in the oars and allowed the little boat to drift; it is sometimes wonderfully sweet to drift; sometimes we drift into the harbor of happiness; sometimes we smash against the rocks, and are left shipwrecked. Little did Helen dream that soon this new found happiness was to vanish; that her lips burning for kisses yet unborn, might soon unbend and voice deepest anguish and piteous appeal; that those eyes which betokened unsolved depths of fondest affection, of laughter, love and life, might soon lose their lustre and dreamy languor, in an ocean of tears….. There two people drifted silently along, conscious only of the fact that they were supremely happy in each other's company …. But lo! out of the quiet a storm is born: why had they not noticed that the moon had hidden her silvery face behind a black cloud? The spray and rain beating upon their happy faces was the first incident which made them aware that a terrific storm was upon them, and that they were many miles from home. The wind was whipping the waves into a perfect fury, thus rendering unmanageable the little boat. The thunder rolled and roared, and finally the wind drove the frail craft against the stony wall of Cave Rock. Jack managed to grasp a part of the jagged surface and drag Helen with him; the boat hit against the rocks several times and finally broke up.

[Illustration with caption: CAVE ROCK] All through the struggle Helen had sat motionless and fascinated at the strength and skill this man displayed in his efforts to pull for the shore, but when at last they were there, and she felt his strong arms about her, all her courage and strength failed her, and she fainted. He clasped her closer to his heart and looked into her colorless face. Her clothes were dripping, and her golden hair was streaming about her face. Jack stopped for a moment and pressed his burning lips to hers—they were icy.

"My sweet burden of glorious womanhood," he whispered. "Thank God you are safe!" And he climbed up the rocky mountainside to the only available shelter…. Cave Rock. There he took his dripping burden and laid it on the damp, cold stones. There was no sign of life. He took off his coat, rang the water out as best he could, and spread it on the rocks and laid Helen upon it. He rubbed her hands and arms, and bathed her head, but she remained chilled.

If he only had a dry match to start a fire with, or some brandy, but alas! they were storm-tossed souls, with no means of warmth, except that of the man's palpitating body….. He was aglow with warmth from the exertion of rowing and climbing up the mountainside. He would bring back life and pulsation to this woman whom he loved with all his heart and soul, by the warmth of his own glowing body. As he drew off his waistcoat and threw it aside, something fell to the ground. He felt about in the dark until he found the object; it was a tiny silver match case, some silly Christmas present which he never used and had forgotten all about, but it was surely a welcome friend at this particular moment. Were there any matches in it?…. He held his breath for a moment while he opened it …. His sigh of relief told the story. The rest now was only the work of a minute: some bits of driftwood and the remains of some previous camp fire quickly started a blaze.

Carefully he laid Helen upon his coat near the fire, and continued to rub her body until her eyelids quivered and she opened her big blue eyes and looked about.

She saw the camp fire, the strange looking cave and the big handsome figure bending over her…. First she looked startled, then when she slowly realized their predicament she became hysterical, threw herself into her rescuer's arms and wept.

And each knew, as the one man and the one woman will always know by intuition, that fiction has no miracles such as are found in the book of life. Lips may dissemble, but there is no need of speech when heart meets its mate. Jack gathered her to his breast and soothed her as best he could. It was so good to look in her face and to hear her voice; her heart was so pure and her soul so lily white: her eyes like violets wet with the morning dew….

When she was quieter, Jack whispered in his fine manly voice quivering with earnestness: "Helen, my own, will you be my wife, my own sweet little wife until death do us part?"

"Until death do us part, I will!" she whispered, and surely the angels must have recorded that sacred promise. Her voice was suffused with a world of tenderness as she breathed the words. From his coat pocket Jack produced a plain gold band. "My mother's wedding ring," he said, "it has never left me since I said good-bye to her and laid her to rest. I have been looking for a woman who would be as worthy of wearing it"…. and he slipped it on her finger and kissed the hand it graced. And then and there they pledged their troth…..

"I love you with all my heart and soul, my own sweet woman, and before God we can do no harm: with love such as ours there can be no such thing as sin. Society is a tissue of pretense: convention a fleeting fantom. My sweet bride of tonight."

Splendidly conscious of her sweet sacrifice, she smiled at tomorrows…. "There is this hour and we live; if sin it is, it is yet divine; the happiest hour of my life, because I am loved and I love so much."….

Adieu to duty and creeds, love's altar has vestments of rosebud lips and starry eyes with whispered words of love divine: "Sin," it's said; but if with the one all holy love, what care we for the reckoning hour…..

"Oh! Helen dear, you are missing the most gorgeous sunrise of creation!"

[Illustration with caption: LAKE TAHOE]

Why, it is Jack's voice…. Helen opens her eyes and looks around. "What did you say about the sunrise, Jack dear?" She looks out of the cave in the direction whence the voice came, and sees the silver dusk turning rose.

"Oh! the sunrise! Yes, dear, I'll be there in just a minute." Helen quickly brought back her gaze from the rosy-tinted silver light to the cave and its surroundings. There was a camp fire lighted, and her clothing was stretched on a line near it, and she herself was wrapped warmly in a dry woollen cloak. In a very short time, she appeared at the opening of the cave, fully dressed, as fresh and sweet as a rose and radiantly happy.

"Good morning, my wonderful bride, my own sweet woman," he whispered as he kissed her almost reverently. "Together we will enjoy this glorious sunrise!"

"Isn't it wonderful?" she sighed, "not a sign of last night's terrible storm: just see how beautiful the lake is; all emerald, sapphire and gold! How the sun reflects its golden glory on the smooth water! How wonderful, Jack dear, to watch the birth of a new day, coming forth from the hands of its Maker. Oh, it is so good to be alive, my lover!"

And Jack again held her in his arms, pressed her to his heart and almost smothered her with kisses. "And I want to say to you, dear, that no fame, no glory, no wealth, nothing on earth can bring the happiness, the real heart's content into one's life, that just one hour's true, unselfish love can give. I know this after ten long years of grief, suffering and despair, when all the time my heart cried out for its own, for what was its birthright and its heritage! I want to give you my whole heart, dear, a heart full of gladness and rejoicing."

"My own sweet woman, it shall be my one and only thought to make your life one beautiful day of gladness and joy! And now, dear, I am afraid there is nothing to do but to walk back to the next camp which is about four miles distant, and then telephone the Sheldons to come for us. I am sure they must be worried; they are probably searching the lake for us. The road is good, that is one thing in our favor. Do you feel equal to the walk, or do you prefer to be left here while I go for help?"

"Indeed I shall not be left here all alone. I could walk twice that distance!" They started off, hand in hand……

And for three wonderful months hand in hand they wandered. Only two people lived in this wonderful world for this man and this woman. All its wealth and beauty: its unutterable joys: its pleasures and stores of infinite happiness: all their very own! Together they wandered down life's leafy lanes, treading its quiet paths: together they drank deep of nature and enjoyed every moment without a thought of tomorrow. The flowers shed their sweetest perfumes, the birds sang their sweetest songs, and each leaf and bough nodded as though they knew. Of all men, he was the one God made, and she,—the woman…. Their souls responded to spiritual intuitions: their minds entwined as do the ivy and the oak…

So beautiful was the love and devotion of this man and this woman, that every one who knew them was in sympathy with them; they were envied by those who had never known such blissful peace and delirious delight. These two people were planning a beautiful home on the banks of the Truckee. There had been a sweet confession from Helen: her case would soon be up for hearing and all would be well…. But alas! suddenly Helen was taken seriously ill. Three days later she died in the hospital. What was the matter? No one knows! With her last breath: "It has all been worth while, Jack dear," she whispered.

And the man, heart-broken, bought a solid silver casket, with a glass inner casket, padded with delicate rose satin, and therein he laid the woman he had loved, honored and respected above all others. A friend who saw her said:

"Never have I seen anyone look so beautiful, as she lay there in her soft chiffon gown, with a cluster of rosebuds in her hand; a full blown rose herself. Is it possible that a creation so fair and beautiful can, in a few short hours, return to dust again?"

The next day Helen's body, in the silver casket, covered with flowers —the last tribute of a great love—was homeward bound. Is she to be envied, or pitied? I wonder….

The man who ever carried in his heart the greatest respect and reverence for this one woman, whispered gently as he placed a wreath of roses on her casket:

"And I had hoped that you would be with me always! Oh, love of mine, what a wealth of beauty, charm and winning grace were yours in full flower"….

I hope, if it be true, that there yet remains another life in some dim land of mystery; that they may again walk together, and sing, as in the long ago; hand in hand; for love such as theirs will live through eternity, and ever after….