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MacGrath, Harold, 1871-1932

"Arms and the Woman"


"Phyllis!" I cried, springing to my feet, almost dumbfounded, my heart
nigh suffocating me in its desire to leap forth. "Phyllis!--and here?
What does this mean?"
The woman looked at me with a puzzled frown, but did not answer. Then,
as I started toward her with outstretched arms, she turned and fled
into the shadows, leaving with me nothing but the echo of her laughter,
the softest, sweetest laughter! I made no effort to follow her,
because I was not quite sure that I had seen anything.
"Moonlight!" I laughed discordantly.
Phyllis in this deserted place? I saw how impossible that was. I had
been dreaming. The spirit of some wood-nymph had visited me, and for a
brief space had borrowed the features of the woman I loved. In vain I
searched the grove. The vision was nowhere to be found. I went back
to the inn somewhat shaken up.
Several old veterans were seated in the barroom, smoking bad tobacco
and drinking a final bout. Their jargon was unintelligible to me.
"Where's your barmaid?" I asked of the inn-keeper.
His faded blue eyes scanned me sharply. I read a question in them and
wondered.


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