Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

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74 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE 1 Rose made no reply, but it was clear he had not forgotten that Marion still reigned queen over his heart. "She is your lawful wife?" cried Marion, "or is it one of those marriages with an Indian, or a half-breed? There are many such wives — but the union is not legal." "We were married by a priest," explained Rose, "but it didn't need that to make her my wife. She loves me. She is faithful. She brought me luck. She made my home. She trusts my promise. That's the hard part, you see — she trusts me ; can I prove faithless to that trust?" "What is all that to love?" cried Marion, contemptuously. "Jack, I am a rich woman; a very rich woman. She shall have money. She can go to Quebec or Montreal. In the novelty of it she will forget. Perhaps she would prefer to stay here and marry one of her own kind. It can be arranged — with money. I have that." "I have money, were that all," interrupted Rose. " It 's not the money. If it were only that." "You care more for her than you do for me?" she demanded, jealously. 1 ' I am less to you than this half-breed girl. You no longer care ! ' ' Rose caught her hand. " I do care, ' ' he cried. "There has not been a day in all these years that I have not cared — that the hurt has not been here. In my sleep I see your face, I hear your voice. Awake ! — I long for your caress ! ' ' Marion clasped her hands with joy. "Then my trip is not in vain," she cried. "Since we two still love, nothing else matters. You will tell this little half-breed that you are going away. You will soon forget her and she " The man checked her with a ges ture. ' ' She must not know, ' ' he said earnestly. "We have made a sad mistake, and nearly ruined our lives, dear heart, but it must not touch her. The good Father over at the mission has made us man and wife. What God hath joined no man may put asunder, unless he pays the price. The price would fall on you as well as on me." "I am ready to pay, Jack," she cried fearlessly. Rose shook his head. "You do not know the cost. Think of the price that she, too, must pay. We should have each other. She would be left alone. I cannot ask her to pay. I cannot, I must not ! ' ' For a moment the woman of the cities looked into the brave, fearless eyes of the man of the woods, and her own faltered. She saw that he still loved her with the love that never dies, but she saw also that she could never win him. Above love he placed duty — duty to the woman he had sworn to protect. Did she tempt him she would gain only his physical companionship. He would despise her for causing him to break his word. At her call the guides came, and wonderingly resumed their places at the paddles. Thru the winding trail his wife regarded the odd tableau curiously, then the paddles dipped into the water and strong strokes forced the canoe through the still waters. With folded arms Rose watched the woman he loved borne from him, and then he turned to the woman who loved him. "The perversity of fate," he murmured, recalling a letter written in the long ago. "Luck comes too late — but honor stays," and with his arm about Tel, he turned back to the cabin that she had made their home. "Whosoever loves not picture, is injurious to truth, and all the wisdom oi poetry. Picture is the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to nature. It is itself a silent work, and always one and the same habit. ' ' — Ben Johnson.