St Johns College - Yearbook (Annapolis, MD)

Page 136 text:

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.