The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1886-09-03
staring into nothingness across Chest.

eyes staring into nothingness across Chest
nut street.
"Eightccn years! Jack was twenty
seven then! Now hc is a middle-aged man
married probably. ! wonder what he
has grown to be like. Let me see! How
many years since | heard from him? Four
teen, | do believe. Yes. Not one word
since the old days in the Rue dc Clichy,
when | was almost ready to come nome
and begin upon the new life. Poor Jack.
pose. and let him come ON to Paris and
take me back to Calcutta with him. But
my years Of study and preparation lay be-
hind me then, and the future, with its
hopes and ambitions, stretched before.
All, Jack! | wonder if, after all, your
vision was not clearer han mine? What
have | gained, and what lost ? Tonight
let me be honest with myself and weigh 1T
Well, as the world goes, | suppose | am.
My practice requires the greater part OF
my time. live iii my own house in a
fashionable qnarter-am driven in my own
carriage to make my professional visits.
have my home, my servants, money-and
the friends which success brings to one.
Even my blother~surgeons admit my skill,
and commend the steadiness of my hand.
But am | happy Oh, Jacki you were
right. IN the other balance put a hus-
bands love, and the voice of a little child.
calling Mother, and it outweighs all"
And DR.. Helen Graves, the ~self-poised
woman, the keen-eyed surgeon, bowed her
head upon the window-sill, and the hot
| tears lowe ed fast.
"Thc way has been hard, and | have
trodden it alone. Alone,'
And at the repetition of the word the
tears came faster.
And SO absorbed was DIR. Helen Graves
in her detection and misery, that she had
not heard the entrance of a stranger whom
Margaret had admitted, and was only
aroused from her reflection by hearing a
strange, deep voice saying:
pardon if | intrude, madam, but | was
directed to wait here to see DIR. Helen
Graves"
Choking back a ghost of a sob, DR.
Helen said, simply and gently:
Il am DR.. Graves. Pray be seated
while | ring for lights"
Margaret entered and turned OF a fiooc
of light; then closed the open window, and
let fall the heavy curtains.
Her soft footballs diminished i'll the dis
lance and Dir. Helen Graves turned in
quiringly to her visitor.
She saw only in him a stranger, com
probably to summon her to a sick wife OF
child.
As she stood under the chandelier, the
light reyealed to him not the Helen oi
eighteen years ago, but Il mature, womanly
face, with firm lines of character, yct
withal crowned with a tender sweetness
| the dark eyes a little red with weeping,
and the dark hair, now plentifully sprink.
led with white, turned loosely back from
the fair forehead, a little disordered, but
lending, | think, in the eyes of the grave,
bronzed man who stood before her, all .ad-
ditional charm.
"IIelen!"
The voice seemed to touch a chord OF
long-ago harmony.
Helen, shall we finish The journey to
gether?'
1t needed but another look to convince
her that this brown and bearded, and
withal most distinguish looking man,
was the once young Jack Merton, whose
image tonight had borne snch a powerfn
part in her sad meditations; and with The
full grasp of the conviction came the glaC
cry:
"Oh, Jaekl Pm So glad you have come
1t was all a mistakei'
And the roads that had been So long di
verged at length led up to a glad CONVEX
| gence.-FrdHk Leslie's.