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TheSa
By GLADYS
"O Beauty, I have wandered far ;
Peace, I have suffered seeking thee; Life, I have sought to see thy star,
That other men might see.
And after wandering nights and days,
A gleam in a beloved soul Shows how life's elemental blaze
Goes wandering thru the whole,
Bearing the discipline of earth,
That earth, controlled, may bring forth flowers Oh, may our labors help the birth
Of nobler souls than ours "
t(
M
Y dear man, God's good man, you are the everrecurring ascetic. In reality, you are a gambler."
"A gambler?" The minister shook his head. "A gambler. You are throwing all your little, sacerdotal dice on the great tomorrow. Perhaps . . . tomorrow may not dawn. Night may be all. Oblivion. Then where will you be?"
"At peace," said John Sterling, gently, "at rest — after
strife "
The beautiful Helen Rowland gave a light laugh. It flicked like a slender whip-cord, "Peace," she scoffed; "rest — corpses you use for your assuagement.
Q
Sops to your chill belief. Embalming. My friend, you are the incurable — or aren't you incurable? — ascetic. There are red roses growing around 40
"THE SACRIFICE" Narrated by permission from the United Pictures production based upon the story by Wm. Anthony McGuire. scenario by Jack Cunningham, and staged with the following cast ;
Helen Rowland Kitty Gordon
Henry Rowland Mahlon Hamilton
John Sterling W. Lawson Butt
Spiffy • Dick Rosson
your feet. You strain your eyes that you may see the lilies in a stained glass window. There is life pulsing up to you. You stand away and yearn to some pale death. You discount beauty You — are starving ..."
She spoke the last words in a whisper. Her jeweled ringers moved ever so slightly. The man at her side sat unmoved. Outside the conservatory, where she had taken him after her husband's introduction, her guests were still dancing. Much wine had given them a bacchanalian tendency. Hawaiian music sobbed fitfully. Flowers breathed heavily, and a moon, like a monstrous lily, bludgeoned its way into the still place. Helen Rowland gave a nervous laugh. She gave a quick glance at the pale ascetic. She was not used to such a comrade of flower-scent and moon-pollen. He was infinitely the priest, slender, black, remote. She shuddered as with premonition.
John Sterling roused himself. "You are a hedonist, Mrs. Rowland," he said; "you deny your soul." He looked at her. "It might be," he said, with deliberation, "more beautiful than — the flesh."
"I have never thought of that," said Helen Rowland,
then she laughed. "Did my husband introduce you to me for purposes of conversion?" she asked.
John Sterling looked down on her. Her face was a magnificent flower. Her hair was a maddening trap. Her eyes were jewels unnamable glowing in alabastine. She assailed him and he drew into his sacramental
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