St Johns College - Yearbook (Annapolis, MD)

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iident that ere the four years of trial had elapsed he would have grown to love her, and she answered yes. It is well, Christine. Though I will treat you most kindly, affection I can never promise you. Some day I may, though 3 who can say? It is not my will that we shall be wedded amid the pomp and ceremony of the world, but rather would I wish to be united in simplicity, with- out grandeur and empty form. I have no religion but the religion of universal brotherhood, but I fear the con- summation and perfection of this religion is impossible g it has been so with me. And yet it seems the most plausible of all beliefs, and if I question that, what am I to believe? I' O Rudolph, talk not so 3 everything in nature is religion-your experience must have taught you that. Her words brought back to him the memory of the walk he took on the bright spring day afew months previous-the day he faltered-wavered, between belief and infidelity. A groan escaped his lips and he said, H Christine, my experience has shown me nothing. It is balanced, and its results incline in favor of neither Heaven nor the devil. I know nothing-fear nothing' But, Rudolph, surely you will get over this morbid, miserable indifference. I know you will-you mustf For a few moments neither spoke, then Rudolph said, 'K Christine, I sincerely wish I were not constituted thus. The cravings of my mind must be satisfied, and I am de- voting my life to their satisfaction. You say you are willing to teach me love. If you can, I shall be glad. 3 D What say you to repairing to the cloister of the good Abbot Paul? It is close to midnight, and the sooner we are united in wedlock, the betterf, O Rudolph, we can well postpone it until some more opportune time. But still the unsatisfied craving in Rudolph Barton's mind tormented him+-he fancied that his marriage was but one step nearer the goal he would reach, and the sooner over, the better. No, Christine, we must be united as soon as possible. Your love-writers would tell me that love is an impatient thing, yet you do not seem impatient. Come with me as you are. We will no doubt interrupt the good Abbott in his midnight mass, but it must be sof' Hegtook her hand-they walked on through the deserted streets of the slumbering city, to the cathedral which reared its monster form silhouette- like against the moonlit sky. A single light gleamed from one of the long, narrow windows. They entered. X Pls PK :li Elf ill The sweet chant of the Abbott, as he intoned the Words, Whoflz God hazfh j0z'7zca', fm' 110 mam pu! czsmzdc1', 3' rang in the ears of Rudolph Barton, and the memory im- pressed itself upon him. The married life of Rudolph and Christine was not extraordinary 5 it pursued its usual peaceful, methodical course almost through the allotted period of four years, and yet Rudolph had not made his decision. Christine always insisted and endeavored to prove to him that her

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holy lustre to the pale face upon the couch, which, though thin and drawn from illness, still retains the witchery of by-gone days. Rudolph takes a candle, and by its light reads from his book-he sees again his oath upon the Hy leaf, and looks at his watch. It is half-past eleven o'clock of the last day of the fourth year and no decision has been made. He nerves himself for the effort and determines that he will decide. Christine, Chris- tine,', he calls softly. You must awaken, and listen to me. Christine., Christine. She opens her eyes and regards him thoughtfully for a moment and smiles sadly. O, Rudolph, did you call? What is it, dear?A', But Rudolph could not speak. He felt sadness such as his soul had never known. Before him, still beautiiul in her agony and pain, lay the woman-the only woman who had ever said she loved him--the woman who had shown love's heroism by marrying him knowing that, to satisfy his caprice, he might cast her aside in defiance to the will of Almighty God! She closed her eyes and breathed softly. Rudolph, she murmured, I am sinking. I cannot be with you much longer. Tell me -tell n1e, if this is to be my last hour upon earth, make it my happiest by the knowledge that you love me-tell me, Rudolph, tell mef' He gazed upon the pale, up- turned face that cast upon him a look of dumb, despair- 2 ing pleading-of heart-rending anguish. He leaned for- ward and took her little white hand in his. She tried to speak again. In vain the white lips moved in a faint effort to utter the words of her heart, and she opened her eyes again. Their beautiful lustre was fading slowly- surely. Rudolph would have spoken but he could not. His thoughts came crowding quickly through his brain. O my mind, tell me-tell me, do I love this woman? O God--I cannot-I dare not ask my heart. I have killed its impulses, I have thwarted and benumbed its instincts-I have turned it to ice. O my soul, tell me, tell me! The candle burned low with an unsteady, flickering flame. The life of the woman was silently ebbing to its close, and as the candle left the two in darknesshlher soul winged its flight to a better land. O. the unspeakable anguish of the moment! O, that she would speak to him, if only once again ! But no, it is too late, too latc I He fell forward on his knees at the bedside, and covered his face with his hands. In the distance sounded the dull stroke of midnight-the four years were gone-the decision made. The bursting of his heart told him more plainly and convincingly than all philosophy--all reasoning--all the dictates of his mind, that he had loved, and loved her well.