Waterbury evening Democrat., 1892-01-05
CHAPTER XI.
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CHAPTER XI.
 ROUND OUR REsTLEssNEss, HIS REST"
 Day after day went by, and Olive fought with all her might against that Indifference to all outward things which is the bane of sick soul. Day after day voice within was always re- beating the dirge-like words: You do not care for anything, and you never will care any more."
 Uncle Wake proposed a holiday in the country; his wife had some rela- tions living in a Surrey village, and Olive was sent to stay with them for lew days They were kind, the air was sweet, and woods and fields were beautiful as of old, but comfort did aot come to the sorely-tric'd heart. The voice of peace did not speak to her here; she could hear only the echoes of the past, and think only of ''the touch of the banished hand" It did not gladden. her now to stand looking over the stiles down the long meadows; there was no hope in the sunbeams, no promise in the whisper of the grass. Michael, the traitor, did not dwell in her mind; he was banished by the mem ory of Michael the young lover. She thought of him, in spite of all reason, as the hero she had first believed him to be, and mourned for the ideal that she had loved so long.
 It was relief to go back to the life in London and take up her work just where she had laid it down. At home slse was very quiet, grateful for all the kindness that strove to deaden the con stant heartache; but those who watched her could see plainly that her soul re- fused comfort, and knew that the heal ing hour had not yet come.
 October was gliding away; but it was gentle, sunny October, and autumn faded slowly. And at last there came a Sunday morning, so balmy and soft that it seemed to have wandered back from the bygone summer. Olive went out alone that morning, sad as ever but 1 with vague desire for the sight of something green to rest the eyes; and she walked on, scarcely caring whither.
 The steeple of St. Mary le Strand rose up into the blue haze of the beautiful day, and the great thoroughfare was bright with tranquil sunshine. All at once it occurred to Olive that she would go to the Thames cmbanllment and look at the river; it would be pleasanter l Nvallling there than in these busy ways. | And, with this thought i'll her weary head, she turned suddenly into a street 1 on her right hand-a narrow, stony lit tic street which she had never entered before.
 She was still so much of rustic that most of the hooks and byways of the Strand were unknown to her; and it was with sense of surprise that she found herself at the open gates of Sunshiny churchyard. Within, there were gray tombstones s' led by plane trees; the dark gray tower of the an- cicnt church was touched with the quiet light of the autumn morning; yellow leaves fell here and there; a ground-ash dropped it's long branches over the soft turf What a resting place was this for tired eyes, weary of watching the ccaseless come and go of London crowds! Olive stood spell bound at the gate until her sight grew dim with tears.
 She was not thinking of herself only as she stood there. She thought of the many homeless wanderers who had paused on this very spot, hardly able to bear the throng of images that started up around that peaceful sanctuary Gray walls and fresh grass and trees, they make the background of memory's holiest pictures. The phantoms of old happy days went dropping along those quiet paths, and vanished within the gloom of the low-browed door; fathers and mothers who had gone to rest long ago in Gods acre; little children who had grown up to be careworn men and women; boys and girls who had loved each other once with the fresh, un- worldly love of youth-these were the shadows that passed slowly through the green old churchyard every day.
 The sorrows of one human heart are the sorrows of all; the longings of one human soul after it's lost paradise are the longings of all, and it is through these common sorrows and common longings that the lost sheep are brought back to the fold and the wandering spir- 0 it's are drawn softly home to God.
 Ideas came to her very slowly that day, and she had fingered for some minutes by the gate before she realized that this little gray church with the quaint low bclfry was the Savoy Chapel Royal. In that old churchyard, and or , the ground now occupied by all the neighboring buildings, the famous Savoy palace had stood once; but Olive = was in no mood just then to recall his torical associations. It was enough fol her to feel that she had suddenly lighted on a nook that was completely out of the world, and ''not one man 1T five hundred who iostlc along the noisy Strand ever dreams of its exist ence."
 The restful influence of the place drew her within the open gate anC along the tree-shadowcd path to thc chapel door. She went timidly dowI the flight of stone steps that led to tn, entrance, hearing the sweet thunder O the organ, and wondering whether sh, might gain admission; but when tn, threshold was crossed her last doub