San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-11-15

claSplng ana unclaSplng the long leah
fingers that leant upon his stick.
''She has other people to help her.
She has other friends who swould give
their lives for her." Mr.. Dunstan an
swered almost fiercely. Can you not
understand that only want to find out
where she ISL" And then, when he
could not learn this one thing that he
wanted, he came away, leaving the self
absorbed old man to dream out his few
feeble remaining days of life in the
peace he loved in his sleepy DevonShire
village by the sea.
Almost two months had passed since
then, and his search for her had remain
ed fruitless,-and he was weary enough
now, and sick enough at heart. What
ever man could do,-by personal in
quiTies and eXertions, by employing the
aid of other people, by advertising in
every principal newspaper throughout
the kingdom-he had done, and it had
all equally been without avail. He had
grown half maddened now by failure
after failure. His utter helplessnesS-
felt for the first time in all his life-was
bitter thing for him to bear. He SEEM
ed to himself like man bound hand
and foot, seeing the thing he longs to
do, yet conscious of absolute powerlesS-
ness to do it,-Or like man struck
blind in a closed room, striving in vain
to find the door. His whole task-the
entire work he had set himself to do
was only to find this woman; and he
could not find her. BY her one simple
act of disappearance she had made him
helpless.
He had never returned home, except
once for couple of days, during all the
two months since she had gone. On
that one occasion he had come back to
attend to some necessary piece of bust
ness, but as soon as it was finished he
had turned his back upon everything
that belonged to him again. The place
that had been dear to him all his life
had become hateful to him now because
it was no longer beautified by the pres
ence of the woman whom he loved. He
could not rest in it without her. A year
ago he had never seen her, yet now her
absence seemed to him like the absence
of all that made life sweet.
"Oh Guy, what is the use of going
away from us again? What can you
do?" Aunt Susan said to him piteously
before he went that second time. "You
look so i'll. My dear, stay here, and let
us take care Of you"
But he only laughed sad laugh when
she made this petition. ....
II won't give you SO hard piece of
work to do" he said. What medicine
would you give me to make a cure? l
must find my own medicine. Susan-or,
if l never find it, L must do without
healing. You and the girls have enough
to do to look after one another, won't
lay more upon you than that"
He sat down by Helen's side on the
day he left them, just before he went
away, and in answer to something that
she Said-some half-sore, half-bitter
speech
Are you angry because l love her
best?" he said abruptly. Nelly, be gen
erous, and don't resent that. When l
have lost her, do you think it is strange
if the flavor has gone for me out of
everything else that is left? If she were
here again, do you think you would be
less dear to me than you have always
beenY' He took the girls hand in his,
and looked with his strong honest eyes
into the Sickly face. "DO you want me
to be hypocrite, and to pretend that
she is not more than all the world to
me?" he said.
And then she made no answer to him,
but when he kissed her presently she
put her arms about his neck.
II know am jealous,-but l cannot
bear you not to care for me-" she said
to him, with little culver that came
half from anger and half from pathos
in her voice.
She had been first with him, you see,
for long time; and now she was no
longer first, and the change was hard
thing to her.
1t was very quietly, one afternoon in
the middle of March, that Mr.. Dunstan
came home for the second time. He
had merely written to WreXham to say
that he would be back on such day,
not telling them whether he meant to
remain with them or not; and when he
came they were too shy of him in his
changed state to ask. He returned
looking thin and i'll, and with cold
ness and sternness in his manner that
made them afraid of him. When he had
come home last he had spoken to them of
Esther; but this time he never mention
ed her; over his useless search and his
passionate longing for her he maintain
ed firm and mOurnful silence.
That first night that he spent with
them again they talked-as far as they
talked at all-Only of things that had
happened amongst them in his absence;
none of them said once to him-"Have
you heard nothing of herr"
His hard reserve froze up the ques-
ton that was on all their lips. They
would have asked it if they had dared,
but they did not dare.
He stayed with them for part Of the
evening; then he went away by himself
to the room of all others that Esther's
presence had made sacred to him, where
he could still picture her as she used to
sit at his table with the lamplight on
her hair,-as she had stood beside him
with her sweet ewes looking at him.-as