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Newspaper Page Text
By Mildred Caroline Goodridge.
Wherever he looked, -whether at a
lovely sunset scene or some radiant
picture, he saw a sheen of gold red
hair, a cheek the hue of a rose leaf
and eyes as tender as the softest
moonlight. It affected the heart like
enchanted music. The hushed dreams
of youth were awakened and his
pulse bounded at the alarm.
He. sat now he, Norman Dacey
young, rich in money but dissatisfied
Saw a Forlorn Form Appear.
of s.oul, telling the story of it all to
his closest friend, Eliott Hughes. As
he spoke his subdued tones reminded
of a poet traversing some sweet and
tender lay, for into his barren life had
come a purpose to find one woman
he had seen and to tell her that he
All about them was the luxury and
refinement of a magnificent home
that had resounded to the clatter and
song and gayety of brocaded dames
and radiant bejeweled demoiselles.
Now, however, there was only a
flashing recollection of a homespun
garb, plain and simple, and the old
fashioned brooch Dacey had been
showing his friend, valued more than,
the Dacey family jewels.
"Two months," he was saying,
"and it seems like two years. It was
just beyond the village that the team
took fright at a passing automobile.
I was thrown out It was the gash
from a deep cut that was the most
serious. I was stunned. Then be
tween that and the hospital there was
one supreme moment. It was when
I saw her."
"You have told that, Dacey," broke
in Hughes in a tone of slight raillery.
"She was lovely as an houri and all
"She was simply a girl, an inno
cent, beautiful girl," resented Dacey
gravely. "A man stood at a little dis
tance, probably a relative. She had
torn a scarf from her throat and was
trying to staunch the blood from my
wound. I recall one look into those
pitying soul-like eyes. Then the
blackness of death again. I was taken
to the hospital. They told me there
that if the touriquet had not been so
promptly applied I would have bled to
"And nothing of the girl since?",
"Nothing save this," replied Dacey,
"exhibiting the brooch in his palm.
"They found it inside my vest, where
it must have dropped from the scarf.
It is a miniature portrait, not of the
girl, although it somewhat resembles
"Probably "of her mother."
"On its back is a graven initial. . I
wonder," and the dreamy eyes of the
speaker had a longing, far-away ex
pression "I wonder if that is the ini
tial of her name G."
"Grace, Georgiana," suggested
Hughes "no, Gineora, or Gloria."