San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-11-10

ousan SAD TO ner once, II the carry
days, when she could answer easily,
with honest frankness-
y mol am only too glad that he
1ndsa anything | can do for him."
A week or two later she could hardly
have answered in so unembarrassed a
way; but neither a week nor two later
would Aunt Susan, perhaps, have made
her own remark.
There were about two weeks in the
middle of December, when Esther Hill
was happier than she had ever expect
ed to be again in this world. During
these weeks she still believed that the
work she did for Mr.. Dunstan was
genuine work; she believed that she was
of use to him, and this belief was very
sweet to her. In all her life she had no
dearer pleasure than the pleasure of be-
ing allowed to serve him. He had made
her so u~nspeakably grateful through
generous acts done and generous words
spoken to her, that she felt, even before
she came into his house at all, that she
owed him what no service of herself
could ever repay; nor did this feeling
lessen, but the reverse, as she came to
know him better and like him more.
She was a woman, as it may easily be
supposed, in whom all taste had wholly
ceased for common amuSementS, and
for the small excitements and gayetieS
that form the staple of so many lives.
What she wanted for the rest of her life
seemed to her to be only ~peace-rest
from the passionate trouble of the past
the quiet monotony of uneventful
days. To sit by Helen's side, and read
to her for undisturbed hours together
that was a pleasure to her; to write
in silence in Guy Dunstan's study, or
in silence still-to do whatever other
work for him he liked to set her to-
that made her happy. These peaceful
hours seemed to her like priceless bless
ings; hours that were quiet, and yet not
desolate, as others had been, but that
gave her, in one, the rest she wanted,
and with that rest the happy sense Of
service.
For a good many days he let her work
for him and said little to her. He spoke
a few words to her now and then. Some
times when she had risen to go he kept
her talking for a few minutes; but this
was all. He let both work and cOmpan-
he did anything to change the character
of the hours they spent together.
1t was toward the end of these two
weeks during which 1 have said she vas
so happy that he began first to be less
silent to her. The change was so slight
for a little while that it neither startled
nor distressed her. He stopped n day
at the opening sentence of letter, and
asked her some question suddenly; and
then went on talking of something that
happened to interest him, till ten min
utes had been lost. Another day some
n he was about to write to had acuri-
history, and before he began his
letter he told it to her. At these times
when he dictated to her he used to put
her in his place at his study-table, and
establish himself in an armchair by the
fire, facing, although not lear to her.
From this position he could see her well
as she wrote. and apparently he liked
to see her, for his eyes did not nov
often from her face, In the evening he
used to stand the lamp so that its light
fell on her face, ard this arrangement
| was one that seemed especially to please
| him. and satisfy his ideas of comfort.
Il cannot think how you can find it
| any help to dictate your letters" she
said to him very %innocently once,-and
he laughed as he answered her.
"You can hardly imagine how pleas
ant it is until you try it." he said. II
am avery lazy letter writer, in a general
way, but, with you to take the manual
labor off my hands, you see how well l
get on!'
But still, in spite Of this assertion, to
tell the truth, occasionally while he was
debating, as time went on, Mr.. Dun
stan seemed to find it ~curiously difficult
to hold the thread Of his discourse, and
keep his thoughts from wandering
nor did practice, strangely enough, ap-
pear to have the effect of making him
reader at his work, but rather the re-
verse; for he had dictated tluently at
first, -often marching without break or
hitch from the first line of a letter to
the end of it.; but after a week or two
these unbroken ~outpourings became
more and more rare; his letters began to
assume a fragmentary and uneven
character; at moments they ever be-
trayed a certain incoherence. On the
days that followed that first day when
at the commencement of one of them
he had broken off to talk to his aman-
uensis, these signs of carelesSneSs and
inattentiOn became constantly more
and more marked. 1t was evident that
Mr.. Dunstan was Ceasing to give his
mind to his work; and yet so little moral
consciousness of his idleness did he
seem to possess, that, instead of evinc-
ing either shame or regret at it, he was
evidently in a condition of more than
usual self-cOntentment.
He would retain Esther in her place,
and take up his own position by the fire
and dictate half a dozen sentences to
her, and then stop. Some merest trifle
he would allow to divert his attention,
and serve as a topic to begin talking
upon: and then when he had once be-
gun to talk and TO make her talk, the
ink had often dried in her pen before