... Bells... bells from the domes of the churches go forth in the fullness of the day... and pain wraps her in its black braids... so she moves slowly to a window... to see the virgin rays of the sun, peering out faintly for all their strength... tremors of melody come over her, and the tears roll in beads from her wide dark eyes... And when the sun blazes out from the hills... it sends its scorching rays... to dry her tears, and her tender heart hardens... and she sends up her sighs as glowering clouds to veil the shining sun from her...

And she weaves about herself darkness upon darkness, in flight from people... in fear of their evil... She is sorrow and joy... she delights and she suffers... swaying between doubt and certainty... Oh, the waves of her changeful soul! Upon their crest a thou-

sand questions...

fading feebly, wave upon wave... And suddenly she stops... stops at the little window of life, not knowing what has stopped her... Shall she join the people?... Shall she walk the people's walk...? Let them pass... let her drink the bitterness of misery down to the dregs of the jars... Sitting in her niche she turns over

memory: the memory of the beauty of the forests and of the rivers pouring down through the valleys... the throbbing... the memory of her hour [...] between one second and another the [...] meets; one second and another, hope dies [...]

... Why does she stop? Why does she not [...]

between the lids and the lashes [...] and she thinks... and reproaches... [...] the cannons and the shrieking of the people... [...] they moan in pain and weep [...] two things contend for the heart: sorrow [...]

Words by May: "Woman must be a rose

STILLMAN'S CREAM

Renew the beauty of your face every day!

By using:

Stillman's Cream

It does away with freckles and dark patches, keeps your complexion soft, and purifies it