Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-05-26
CHAPTER xxv1.
CuTHBERr.


 Bronzed by the sun and thin in the face.
 But cancellation was the only change in him.
 And it was change to mar nothing of his beauty, which, because of the ingrained e1- presslon of pensive thought, such as a man might wear in whose heart sorrow languishes but will not die, was of nobler and truer type than what it had been in the lighter months before.
 When man lives bitter lifetime in 0 short while his face will be mirror to re- fleet the violent compression of experience.
 By the earnest, p1aintive gaze of the eve. by the habitual fxity of the mouth. by the unsevere resolution of feature, Cuthbert ex- plained to the shal1owest sight the harshness of his ordeal, though its nature remained his secfet
 But to this distinctive expression which his face had taken--stamped there by lonely contemplation, by unutterable longings, by helpless chafng, by many fits of mental agony, by hope fallen sick and spiritless, by such things which do really and truly of this life make hell without participation of conscience, as there are sufferers to swear was superadded, at this time, as he walked through busy thoroughfares, painful anx- iety so acute as to fix upon his heart tho shadow of physical torment.
 With quick steps he pressed forward glancing on his passage at every clock, until he had crossed Blackfriars bridge, and arrived at the famous hostelry which, in those days, was the starting point for the coaches to that part of the coast where Greystone lay.
 Here was the coach drawn up, and pas sengers clambering to their places, and an- other five minutes of fog had lost the rs turned hero Q night
 There was room and to spare, happily; but no time for the hot drink which the rest of the travellers had slowed under their small clothes.
 vapor was still in the sky to darken it and leaden dullness on the massive city, but when the horses heads were down and tho wheels spinning the sky grew light and fold after fold of fog peeled off until the blue heaven foated clear, and then the tune of the wind grew merry.
 This coach was the .Rattler," and famous for good runs, At every stage did it ha It as punctually as trains at stations do now, and for careless heart the passage was . glorious journey to make. November's yell low light upon the land, upon the hilltops . full toned coloring that kept distant the blue of the sky, between the ridges masses of shadow, the brown of loam and the dwelling of sunshine on green.
 AL 01&ub Ol pu0 0SoA11tS oA0 VSoSA4 swung through the streets of halfway city of the road, where some relinquished the roof for an inn fire and bed. But Cuthbert kept his place, so that faithfully at the hour of l twelve, by the deep voiced city clock, the coach arrived. at that ancient place whence diverged the road to Greystone. and here Cuthbert quilted the vehicle.
 The suggestion of bed seemed like land lords 1nocking of restless spirit, yet to . bed in the Old Bell inn he betook himself l laying urgent commands upon the host that | @ postchaise should be ready for him by six Even an hours sleep could do him no injury, and this he got, which relieved the veins oi 1 his head from the fullness of tho blood l poured into them by intense mental anxiety and toned the heart into softer beating so that when he was aroused he was better prepared for the end of his journey.
 The distance to Greystone was twenty-ons miles, and this the post horses could run with one halt for a bait. At nine o'clock | the chaise wheels took the stones of thu High street.
 In Greystone at lasti And as in tho Higl street he stood, the smooth sea stretching it gray luster to the sky from under the front ing houses, and tho keen wind whitening tn roadways- for tho cold, by th, fsw persons abroad, who hurried past hug ging themselves in folds of friese-a passion ate fear came upon him and held him to tn, pavement
 For right in his sight, looking now througl bare tendrils of creepers, was the ship wright's wooden house; and that 1t migh be desolate place, for the want of his wife and tomb for the echoes of memory only t sound in, was dread of the awful kind tha repels the heart with horror from the de | ,f