The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1892-02-17


near them.
II am his nurse" she said. ave come
to stay"
The old man waived her an old-fashioned
bow; the younger said CURLY:
"He needs you more than he needs me,
imagine, madam"
But the old man was impatient of this
interruption, He plucked the other by
his sleeve pettishly:
"He may wake up, doctor, and, as was
saying. think we ought to do by our
doctors as we do by our lawyers, tell them
the whole truth and not leave them to
guess at cause from effect"
You are quite right, sir; am listening
with interest"
1t was John Milbank standing there
looking down into old MIR. Grayson's face.
Ever since, sent by Dolly Chiltern, he had
entered the studio and found this feeble
old man walking restlessly up and down
in front of the sick mans lounge, he had
been puzzling over that rugged face, with
Its searching eyes peering from under
their shaggy gray eyebrows. He had not
yet connected it with the photograph,
which in itself had meant nothing to him,
but which, when found with Marianne's
agitated scrawl on its back had suddenly
become sacred in his eyes. Photos are
often misleading. This old, rugged man
had not suggested this.
81 feel like criminal every time look
at him." the old man was saying, with
peevish misery in his voice. 81 ought to
have known better than to break bad
news to him so suddenly; but you see,
doctor-you see, l thought men always
found the grit when it was needed, and |
thought it was only womankind that had
to have things broken to them gradually"
"There is an exploded theory to that
effect" said DIR. Mlllbank, ca<essing his
close-crODDed Whiskers absently.
Nobody broke it to me. 1t came on
me like a blow from a hammer in giant
hand. 1t came in telegram from Davie
Lockhardt-in plain, bold words; but
every one of them dropped on my heart
like red-hot coal. doctor. 'Nannie-is-
dead Drowned | suppose Davie
couldn't afford to make it longer. But
most wish he had waited to write it In a
letter. kilograms are such hard sort Of
things. you know"
DIR. Milbank had turned suddenly away
from the old man and walked toward the
alcove where the shrouded statue stood
He knew now why that rugged old face
had haunted him so. That was the father
-doubtless-that other one, the hus-
band. Queer that he, John Milbank who
rather prided himself on his ability to
read character, should have fallen such an
easy prey to beautiful face and a soft
voice.
These were the men she had wilfully
deserted-why, he was never to know,
perhaps. The old man had followed him
to the aleove.
"You think I'm consuming your time
uselessly, don't you. Doctor? But 1
thought if you knew the whole truth you
might work to better advantage"
Il should like to know the whole truth
very much indeed. Sit down, Mr.. Gray
son."
"Queer how you got hold of my name,
seeing there was nobody to introduce US
That is nv son-in-law, doctor, and the
Mamie that is dead-was my daughter,
his wife. She was a beautiful woman,
and we both loved her. | never knew
how much he loved her till came mere
that morning and broke the news to him
without any warning"
"Yes-yes-she was away on visit
when she?"
mot Just exactly, doctor. Mamie was
a strange creature-one of that fanciful
sort that was always looking for the path
of duty in some Out-of-the-way track and
determining to follow it out according to
her own lights She would have been
burned at the stake if she had lived in the
DAYS when it was risky to be Christian.
IRAN wasn't always the quiet thing you
see lying there now, Doctor. l think he
and Mamie made a mistake in getting
married. But that's neither here nor
there. Then when they moved over to
the city here, and Ran got to be run after,
like rising artists will, you know Doctor,
Mamie got sort of morbid notion that
she was milestone around bis neck, and
that he could climb better without her
than with her. Then they had little
tiff one day-young married people will,
you know, Doctor-and he used an ugly
word. 1t was 'hampered.' She tried to
get him to take it back, but he wouldn't.
Then, you see, she came to the conclusion
that he really meant 1t, and she went
away, telling him she meant to leave him
free to make the very most OF his talents.
Mamie was always wiltul.
"And she went away without consulting
you ~ If this whole matter had con-
cerned persons he had never heard OF be-
fore, DIR. Milbank's voice could not have
been Quieter or his manner more thor
oughly self-contained. He was holding
himself in with mighty effort.
"No-she came to see me. Mamie was
always good and sweet to me. She told
me all that 1 have told you, that night,
and she told me not TO worry about her
l should hear from her if she was not
we'll / have heard, Doctor"
"Why did you not keep her with
you"
"She would not stay, Doctor. She SAID
Ran would need me. You see, he was an
old pupil Of mine, and had never got out
of the way of sort of leaning on me. and
she thought he would not come to me if
she was there. She always believed Ran
dali could do something great If he
wanted to-and wasn't hampered."
"Has he justified her expectations?"
The old man pointed to the shrouded
statue.
"There stands work Of art which would
make the name of that poor boy lying
there famous forever"
DR.. Milbank looked at the shrouded
figure with an interest that was positively
painful. 1t was the altar upon which she
had been inundated.
"When will it be put on exhibition"
Never"
"NO?"
mo. He did not finish it for that. He
worked at il like a mailman all summer,
doctor. He seemed all at once 20 realize
what grand. what an unselfsh thing his
wife had done, and all his vanity, all his
listlessness seemed to drop away from him