Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1892-01-21

of every one who knew him. A chill fear
trept into my heart; could not tell why,
but his fathers death seemed to take me
further from Mark. The lawyers managed
also his house, and furniture; and the sum
of money realized was sent to Mark in far
Off India. The good doctor was buried at
Gracedieu, new practitioner came. and
| the world about us went on as OF old; but
whenever passed the empty house great
pain seized me.
Mark lelt his fathers death keenly He
wrote to ME more lovingly than ever. He
said that was all that he had in the world
now, and that he must ifhe could, love me
| even more.
| 1t was in May that the doctor died, and
for one year atterward everything went as
of old. l had but two years more to wait.
Time passed more quickly. Only two
years! My mother had ceased to warn me.
| She said no more to me about caution i'll
love.
Three years had passed. I reminded
myself almost every hour in the day that
had but one more year to wait. Marks
hope He had been prosperous beyond ex-
pectation. He had never missed writin@ to
me, until day came when the Indian
mail brought me nothing from him-not a
word, not line. 1t was the first time such
a thing had occurred and my mother tried
|
letter, but the one after that did not, and
| my confidence was goEe-l no longer felt
sure that by every mail l should have news
from my lover Like the sharp thrust of u
sword, an idea came to me one dav. that
the letters were shorter ana colder. I hated
myself Tor my miserable fancy. How dared
| think such treason of my Mark? Then in
October my mother died. and after that the
Indian mail brought me no more news OF
| Mark-nOt a single line.
| My mother never knew that great cloud
had overShadowed me. She did not know
that my hear: was breaking because had
no news from Mark.
was buried, and l was alone in the world,
save for my lover so far away-aione, save
for him. and, when July OF the next year
! should come, the four years would be end
ed, and he would return.
l thought deeply over my plans. It
seemed useless now to leave the cottage; it
was best for me to remain there until Mark
came home again. Our old and faithful
servant, Dorothy Clarke. was sufficient
protection for me. | had money enough
for one year, and l had my little income Of
twenty pounds per annum also. l had
thought once OF going away; but whittier
should | go-,what could | do? And l
must be here when Mark returned.
When Christmas came, l was still wait
ing. in dryeyed, mute anguish, Tor the
| letter that l was never to receive. | Won
dered often that the golden hair of which
my lover had been so proud had not turned
gray, was helpless in my great grief: l.
mother was dead, ana that was alone in
the cottage. waiting for him-that neither
his silence nor his absence shook my
1ath He might be i'll; an accident
might have happened TO M
anything, everything would believe, ex
ccpt that he had forgotten me. l never
thought Of that; it never occurred to me as
a solution of the mystery of his silence.
There was no one to whom l could appeal
for news of Mark. His father was dead;
the rector of Gracedieu had not heard from
him for many months; the lawyers who
had forwarded the money realized by the
sale Of his fathers property had not received
any communication from him since he had
sent the formal receipt for it. There was
no one in Gracedcu who knew his present
address. Mark had not seen much OF
Gracedieu. When the doctor had brought
his practice there. Mark was at school.
He had made few acquaintance, and none
OF these had kept upa correspondence with
him since he had left for India.
There was nothing to be done but to
wait in patience as best l could. Every
morning hope revived in my heart; every
evening it died. livery morning I rose,
praying wildly to Heaven that I might
hear from Mark that day; every night lay
down to sleep with bitter tears because a
letter had not come. Every morning, week
after week, month after month, l went up
to the gate to meet the postman. He never
had anything tor me. lie knew l wanted
an Indian letter, and he would look at me
with a piteous shake OF the head, and pass
on. But one morning, when the snow lay
upon the ground and the bells were CHM
ing the postman came. He babe me no
CHEEKY, Good morning" as he placed the
letter in my hands ard fastened away. He
knew what had beiallen me- Inside the
envelope was my last letter to India, re-
turned to me through the Dead Letter
Office, and on it was written in an official
hand, Gone away-lett no address,
CHAPTER w.
| The words were ever before me in letters
of tre-"Gone away-leit no address,"
Both by night and by day they beat upon my
brain. Christmas passed; bright lovely
spring was coming. What was to do?
Mark had gone away and left no address.
No letter, no prayer from me could reach
him. In all the wide world 1 did not
know where to look for him, where to send
to him. He seemed as lost to me as though
he had gone into another sphere.
What could 1 do? In the July OF this
year he was to come home and marry me;
I WIS waiting Tor him. l had no other
|
which could look forward. Where was
henry handsome brave young lover, who
loved me so dearly and had worshiped me
so entirely. Was he living or dead? Hope,
health, strength, everything failed me
except nv faith; that was undimmed and
untouched. If he was lying i'll, unable to
write knew he was thinking of me, long
ing for me: if he had been suddenly sent to
some distant place or business, from which
perhaps he was unable to send news to me,
he would be miserable, as was. Even if
he was lying dead in the depths of the sea,
his last thought had been mine. Every
hour Of the day and night this one ques
ton met me-What must l do? There
were times when the impulse was strong
upon me to go into the wide world and
search for him. Then faith and patience
came to my aid They said "Wait here
for him. He will come with the lilies and
roses; wait in hope and patience"
The spring came and went I avoided
looking at the Ii acs Their perfume filled
the air could not help breathing it-but
l. avoided looking at them. Ny heart was
sick, hall dead with pain, and the sight of
them would almost have killed me. Then
June anne with its roses. My little store
OF money was all gone, and knew that