Farmington High School - Laurel Yearbook (Farmington, ME)

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THE LAUREL 15 ing away in retreat and footsteps fading in aloofness and then - silence. Now, twenty years later, I stood in the gathering dusk, again in this lane. How bitter it seemed, those twenty years of banishment, and now I was back at last, breaking that tortuous exile. With bared head I paced the length of that lane. How like me that naturc's avenue was! How it called in my waking and sleeping dreams through those past twenty years. It seemed the Hnal enlight- enment of unbearable sorrow. But yet, how bitter it was, my realization of the past, the regret for the joy that was des- tined not to be mine. What a pang for the future. Listen! There the pines were singing. Singing? No, I was mistaken, they were moaning in suppression. What were they saying to-night? Ah! the rhapsody was gone. How soleful those pines were. Now, like a full-throated voluntary, they were moaning out the song of my mood and thought. Once it was joy, now- listen? The pines, yes, they had the ex- pression of the change too. Softly now, as I haltingly stepped through the old gateway, I heard the song of my pines. Once Felix, once Felix, now still more subdued and expressive, the song came down to me on the wafting breeze. Once Felix. Dark and still, low browed and silent, there before me, stood the old house. Slowly I pushed the door open. The ap- pearance of the rooms showed long aban- donment. Dusty floors, stifled air and hol- low silence made it plain concerning Sibyl and her mother. How alike Sibyl and her mother had been! One the counterpart of the other in appearance and comradeship. Wearily I climbed the stairs. I walked the length of the hall. All the doors were swinging loosely in cold draughts of air. No, there was one which was closed tightly. The next room was last. Here I decided to sleep if possible. The dusk was becoming deeper. Night had come with all its seclusion and silence. Sleep seemed welcome. I-Iow symbolic the night seemed of my life. Now even my dreams were refusing me any hint or share of happiness. Later in the night, I awoke with a start. Ah! A steady rain weltered about the house. How monotonous that steady drip, drip, drip of the storm! No wonder I awoke! What was that? A series of slow, steady sobs and moans seemed to filter through the wall from the next room. The room with the closed door! The storm did not wake me. Soon I gropingly lighted a half used candle. Slowly I moved out into the hall toward the next door. I tapped softly. There, tl1e moaning ceased. How could I wait longer? Quietly the door swung in before my push. There, in this room, by the flickering light, I saw signs of cluttered use. In a moment my eyes were arrested by the sight of a Figure lying still. Slowly I approached the bedside. Was this Sibyl? Heaven forbid. Oh, what a picture that countenance revealed. It showed the own- er's soul to be seared by torture and all joy to be rent by a troubled conscience. That poor soul was now opening its eyes. It was - Sibyl's motlzer! Felix? she questioned tremulously. Yes, it is I. Oh! she groaned in a piteous whis- per. All remained silent for a time, excepting the revelry of the night wind and rain. Soon with a supreme effort, Sibyl's mother seemed to prepare to impart a cer- tain something to me, which I thought was the primary reason for the torture of her soul. Felix, she spoke in a tense whisper, I have wronged you and Sibyl terribly. I waited intently.

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, 14 THE LAUREL R Q! Ei mn Illil - ig I 2 l 2 ONCE FELIX I-I! Twenty years, bitter years had passed since I last stood in that old lane. Strange it is, how often there are unac- countable intangible happenings, which course through one's life. Still more curious it is to realize that through a period of intermingled sorrow and joy, many times, a certain spot in nature holds a spell over us. Often, too, this favored spot imparts to us a vision of future joy and success, or seems to symbolize our souls and physique by characterizing ruggeclness, composure or subdued atmosphere of the spot and sur- rounding latndscape which impresses itself upon us. Sadness, too, is deeply associated with these bonds which seem, perhaps, only like mere coincidents. . But, after all, is it strange that there should be an incletinable relation between the elements and mortal ? Through the ages there has always been this surging tide of mortals, using nature as its playground for joy or stage for tragedy. Then is it strange that one spot, with which we are often closely related, should pnlsate with our very same spirit or be em- bodied in close alliance with our cares, sorrows and joys of life? still impressive and The old lane was beautiful. The long avenue remained the The parallel stone same in appearance. walls, moss covered and rough, were yet Mlenvy rnrtgaaar blanketed with twisted and climbing ram- blers, honeysuckle, and Woodbine. Farther down the aisle the high, battered old gate was swaying on creaking hinges, ending the long path leading to the low-towered house beyond. Ah l yes, there too were the long rows of pines, towering, overhanging, yes, the true sentinels of nature. Sentinels! The watch guards of my ris- ing hopes in long past days, once sharing in my joy. Twenty years ago I had waited in this lane, enrapt in joy and delightful expect- ancy. This was our trysting ground, the forerunner of expected paradise. On that last visit here the pines sang a rollicking rhapsody of joy and promise. Long I waited, dusk deepened, the breeze checked, the song of the pines ceased, silence fell- yet I waited, surely Sibyl would come. Click! The gate latch grated. Ah! now she was coming. A rustle of silk, nearing footsteps, a quick touch upon my shoulder. Sibyl ! I whispered tensely. A brief moment of cold silence followed. In the next instant I was answered by a cold voice, scornful and distant. Felix, go. Our past has been a dream. To me it is now a mere blind happening. Depart, never to return. Oh! Felix if you love me, keep this warning sacred. Goodbye. I heard a mocking rustle of attire draw-

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16 THE LAUREL It has killed Sibyl, ruined you, and is killing me. Please spare me the pain of telling you the secret. But before, before, here she choked with emotion, before I pass away, won't you forgive me? Oh! I can 't die in torture. Oh! Felix? Now she raised herself upon her elbow in pleading. Whatever it was, forgiveness is yours. Sibyl would have willed it so. This had welled up from the depths of my heart in true sincerity. Thank God, she whispered, falling back upon the pillow. Felix, before you leave, go to the old apple tree. Oh! Now I can die. I turned away sorrowfully. Listen, yes, the rain was gone, dawn was flashing out, shattering the darkness. Ah! hear the shrill song of the lark. Turning back to the still figure on the bed, I peered closely. There, overshadow- ing the deep lines of care and sorrow, lay a peaceful smile. There lay ia body. With the dawn a soul had passed. By the light of the fast brightening dawn I went to the old apple tree. Groping in a deep hollow in the trunk, my hand touched something. Grasping it, I found a letter. Eagerly, in the coming sunrise, I read. DEAR FELIX: If God ever guides you back, I pray that you may, by chance, find this. Felix, oh please forgive, but I must give the truth in my dying message. My mother, not I, drove you from joy and love into exile. My mother through impulse and pride, blind to the truth at that time sent you away. Oh, the sorrow and anguish it has caused me. You, too, are in sorrow. But, I pray God that if you ever gain the chance to enlighten my mother's sorrow by forgive- ness Oh Felix, grant my prayer. Long will I have been gone when you find this, Felix, I have not long to wait. My love for you has been undying. Goodbye forever, SIBYL. As light is to the darkness, then so is truth to deceit. And Oh, the glorious thought that forgiveness is the beauty of the soul's existence. Look! There the sun loomed up, cheer- ing the world. How the dew sparkled! The rambler buds stretched out and up- ward. How happily the birds sang! Now listen, lCl'1CI'C,S my pines singing. Singing? Yes, singing my tune with a serious concerto in a turbulent breeze. What is the song of my pine trees? It is humming to me now. New life, Felix, new life. NOTE: Better appreciation of the story can be gained by substituting the Latin translation of Felix: meaning happy. Owen Gilman, '27. LL THE REAL REASON WHY CLEOPATRA DE- SERTED ANTONY FOR THE ASP E see Cleopatra reclining on a Kroeler Davenport, her slender ankles crossed and you just know she wears 'em. However the heart of the great queen is troubled today for Dorothy Dix has not replied to her last love-lorn inquiry and even the fifteen foot shelf has failed to give a Qtisfactory answer. Will Antony return? , At last! A key in the Yale lock and Antony enters. I-Ie stands amazed. You haven't changed a bit! he cries. No answers Cleopatra and clasping her arms about his neck she whispers, Post Brann Flakes. After duty has again called Antony, Cleo waits eagerly for a letter. When it arrives she grasps it in her Cutexed hands with joy but almost immediately she drops it to the floor in disgust-unopened- The unforgivable sin, she murmurs, he didn't use Eaton's Highland Linen.