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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE.
HE COULD NOT BELIEVE THAT SHE WAS NOT COMING.
dreams of his heart, fair the promise of his day, but his dream was over, his day had sped with the last glimpse of light in the sky. It was forever night and he was alone. Perhaps his dream was not dead, but only tired of waiting and watching, as weary as he, and had gone away on rainbow wings to rest or to sleep to some far place beyond the cloud.
He looked up with tearless eyes and whispered her name, then they took him away as if she had forgotten and would not come, but he knew they were mistaken.
Next morning the woods were just as green as ever, the birds sang the same carols, there was nothing changed; for Love had not turned his face away. The stricken man mourned not at all, he became a dreamer of dreams. He rose with the dawn and gathered his flowers, fashioned them into a bouquet and set forth joyously to meet his loved one at the station. He sighed with resignation when she did not appear among the arriving passengers, but lo^t no faith. She would surely come some day. Tho he may have wept the lonely night unheard, he smiled at the dawn, gathered his flowers and haunted the station with ever renewed hope.
Thus passed his years of barren constancy.
At last evening came. Those who
had known the lover in the glorious morn of his effort and the dark afternoon of his affliction had fallen away until only one servitor remained, a negress with hair as white as his own. Each morning she was in the habit of giving him a small bouquet to carry to the station — flowers only bloomed for his bride — but he was beginning to totter and his health was fast failing. On the day that his long dream came to an end, he gazed at the small bunch of flowers like one mystified, his hollow eyes filled with wonder, and the faithful old servant ran out of the room to hide her tears.
He knew.
He knew that the house he had provided had no value of its own; it had been built and furnished for one who was to have made it a home. Each little cherished detail was for her who would never come to partake of its charm. Effort, hope and struggle had been in vain.
He wandered to where a picture of the loved one rested and gazed at it fondly.
Before his eyes was a white, small face in a cloud of soft hair. His eyes dimmed at the thought that she was no more, her entity blotted out with nothing but this presentment left as trace of its existence.
Suddenly his eyes opened wide, and with the awakening came a brief renewal of energy.
fSHE WILL SURELY COME SOME DAY/ HE SAID.