The Topeka State Journal

THE EVENING STORY
A Man, a Maid and Two Minds.
(By Susanne Glenn.)
The man leaned his head back against the clasped hands and gazed long at the maid. He looked very big and easy and comfortable, with a certain clearness in his face that inspired confidence.
The maid was intensely pretty, with an outward elaborate calmness belied by the light in her eyes and the color in her cheeks.
"Dear girl," said the man at last, "why do you not make up your mind to marry me?"
"Is it not tiresome?" answered the maid. "I think I prefer the weather as a continuous topic for conversation!
You sit for hours and say nothing—when you do speak, it is always on this same impossible subject."
"Because it is the only one upon which I can think when I am with—or at any time! Why do you not answer me? You always evade! When you will answer my questions, I will not trouble you any longer."
"What is it you wish to know?" she asked.
"Why you will not marry me. Why you have changed toward me in these past weeks. You used to care—you cannot deny it! Now, you are cool and sharp and—distant!"
"A most delightful description of an object so ardently adored!" she said, crisply.
"See, you do evade! I really wish to know, so you need not be afraid of hurting me. What is there that makes this so impossible between us?"
The maid looked down at him critically.
"We should not be happy—we are not suited to each other!"
"Why?" he persisted.
"You love ease and comfort; I love activity. You have always had yourself alone to consider; I have spent my life thinking of others. I should weary you, and you would exasperate me! We are much better apart, my friend!"
"You honestly believe that? Why, you simply justify the step—you would kill my loneliness and selfishness; I would be a balance wheel to the enthusiasm that is continually undermining your strength! That will not do for an answer. Will you tell me that you no longer care?"
"That seems superfluous after all have told you," she murmured evenly.
The man rose, moved out of his usual calm.
"Goodby," he said, gently.
"We are parting friends?" she asked, kindly.
"Perhaps I shall be grateful for that after a while; just now it seems a poor sort of thing to offer me."
In the weeks that followed there was little outward change in the man, though he pondered deeply. What was this shadow that had come between the maid and him? Never in his life had he been so happy as he had been this summer until the advent of the incapable mother and sister upon whom the maid lavished her young life brought the beginning of the end.
And the maid, watching him furtively, goaded her pride with his indifference; her mother had been right, he cared for nothing but himself. She ought to be happy that she had found it out in time. And she renewed her devotion to the loved ones to whom she meant so much.
A night journey alone in the jolting local train was very distasteful—even a little fearful—to the maid, but it seemed advisable that she go ahead to have everything prepared for the reception of her mother and sister when they should return home from this outing that meant merely a pleasant recreation to them, and so much misery to her! Just what this return to the old life would be she dared not consider; he might not be deserving, yet her heart ached under its jaunty garment of pride.
Nervously she dismissed the cabman, and hastened into the bright, crowded station. A feeling of utter loneliness enveloped her, and she could hardly suppress a cry of joy at sight of a tall figure standing protectingly beside her.
"You are going alone tonight?" asked the man a little sharply.
"It seems necessary, and I am perfectly safe," she answered with a calmness she was far from feeling.
"Necessary? Well, I shall at least put you safely in your train. Come!"
She followed meekly. It was a new experience to have her baggage attended to as if by magic, and to be looked after in this highhanded manner. It was several minutes before she realized that he was still sitting beside her and that the train was moving rapidly.
At her look of astonishment, he smiled reassuringly, and covered her hand protectingly with his own.
"Did you think I ought to let you go like this? I still have a great deal to say to you. I am going to sit here quietly, and I want you to think it all over honestly and fairly to both of us; then we will talk about it."
Suddenly the maid felt her resolution weakening. She was tired of taking the lead in everything, and this feeling of being cared for brought such peace and happiness. She wanted with all her heart to be loved. She was tired of the war she was waging against her feelings for this man, who could be so charming even while so undeserving. But the mother and the sister, who depended upon her so completely!
"Don't you think," said the man as if in answer to her thoughts, "that it is time they began doing something for themselves? We need each other dear, you cannot deny it, and they will be really better and stronger if left to their own resources. Look at me."
She raised her eyes breathlessly, but the tenderness in his face changed to a look of horror as the car careened with a grinding sound; then the lights went out, leaving them in terrible darkness. Through the frightened moments that followed, filled with the splintering and crashing of wood and glass, and the hoarse, agonized cries of the passengers, the maid was conscious only of the protecting arm about her and the words of encouragement so quietly spoken.
A blast of damp night air against her face revived her: the man was laying her gently on a grassy bank.
"You will be safe here, dear," he said hastily. "Stay here so I can find you. I must go back!" He kissed her tenderly, and was swallowed up in the horrible scene.
"Oh, he isn't selfish—he is brave and generous and good," she sobbed, alone in an agony of waiting. She strained her eyes for a sight of him in the medley below her, but could see only the limp forms being borne out by the black, hurrying figures.
After what seemed hours of painful waiting, she saw him coming up the bank to her again. He sank down wearily.
"Thank God they are all safely out," he said, quietly, "and not many hurt beyond a general scare and shaking up; we got the fire out, too, by a miracle. The relief train will soon be here, now. You are all right—you are not hurt?" he asked, turning to her suddenly.
"No—no!" she answered impatiently, "and you?"
She looked at him closely, at his smoke-stained face and torn clothing, and the ugly red burns on his grimy hands.
And suddenly she sank in sobbing abandon in the grass. With a joyous comprehension, the man drew her into his arms.
When the incompetent mother and sister arrived at their home station they were met by a strange boy directing them to the leading hotel; and their bewilderment changed to impatience at sight of the radiant maid who met them in a pleasant private parlor.
"You were not hurt in the wreck?" asked the mother casually, thinking of her own discomfort and this unnecessary delay.
"Then why do we not go home? Is everything ready for our reception?"
"I phoned Ellen to prepare for you; I think everything will be all right. I have not been to the house myself."
"Not been to the house! What have you been doing, pray?" cried the mother in high dudgeon.
"Caring for my husband, who was rather badly burned rescuing people from the wreck. You know," added the maid, holding the door open for them, with a new and disconcerting dignity, "I was married yesterday morning!" (Copyrighted 1910 by Associated Literary Press.)