Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1894-10-27

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floods over the gliding face, and hides 1t
from view, and there is only the gray
shadow left.
So far, the vision had always been the
same; but lately, since the Silent Man had
taken his passage on board the Amsterdam,
there had been something more which fol-
lowed it-another ending to the reverend
ing dream.
An ending in which he sees a scrap of pa
per- traced over with trembling characters
letter dated four weeks before from NO.
~ Omaha avenue, Lumberville U. ). A
The characters range themselves unerr-
ingly before his mind:
Il have snned, and God knows I have re-
pented. do not ask to be forgiven. Ihat
cannot be. But for our child's sake, for
was once YOUR WIFE"
The Silent Mans hand steals into the
breast of his coat, and touches something
there-something hard and cold. made OF
metal; something that he touches softly
and caressingly, looking at his fingers az
terward. to make sure that the sea water
has not reached 1t; something that IN the
In the bows of the tossing boat, he takes
from his breast and examines and weighs
in his hand.
And he listens to the washing of the
waves as they splash on the boats Size,
and laughs softly to himself as they, too,
seem to bear the same L-essage-"Aifs
well!'
All was yet well-for what he had to do.
were but two living souls be sides himself on
board the boat-dawned with glorious up
rising OF the sun, to show that me ueathly
fog had folled away, that oil was clear as
far as the horizon line, that SAILING snip
was standing down toward them.
They were saved!
Who shall say what those men felt? Who
shall describe the weeping and laughter
intermiXed, the incoherent cries OF Joy, the
frantic waving of the emaciate1 arms, the
wild CALCULATIONS of confused thanksgiving
and imprecation that burst from thelr
blackened lips? Who shall wonder that,
but for their failing strength, they would
have cast themselves into the waves, ana
struggled to gain the boat that HaS lowered
to rescue them; that in the mornent OF thelr
preservation from death bu- few hours
distant their minds became distraught?
All save the Silent Man.
He alone was calm. 70 him alone their
rescue seemed not unexpected: To Inn
alone 1t not miracle IKE to the Ia1s-
ing from the dead. To HIM alone II was
but the fulfilment Of an omen.
The sailing ship that picked them up was
bound for Rio; but the Silent slin was oes,
tined to dream that strau:Se dream many
time yet before land was reached. For sew
eral weeks they beat about on the Atlantic.
They were delayed by headwinds, thrown
out of their course by constantly recurring
gales. becalmed for three whole days on the
equator. 1t was close upon two months
from that glorious dawn when the little
boat had been espied drifting on the waste
coast Of Brazii--like a streak of blush cloud
rising behind the sea line-opening out be-
fore them.
Their voyage was nearly at an end
The BLUSH cloud resolved itself into dark
green masses of vegetation growing down
to the waters edge; the vegetation became
dotted and broken by the white roofs OF
buildings: the buildings collected Them
| selves together tier beyond tier. and
blocked out the vegetation; great con-
! course of masts and spars rose before the
| buildings; they were entering RIO harDor.
1t was long vet before the Silent Man re-
| sumei his journey There were inquiries
| to be made-inquiries wherein the object
| of that journey was sought Tor, but not re-
| vealed; the story of the loss OF the Am
| sterdam and of the awful days that tol-
| lowed 1t had to be told again and again, a
| sum of money was raised and paid TO him
| At last he was embarked for New York.
| Then followed more days of dazzling neal,
| and glittering water and the rising ana
! falling of the ships deck; days in when ne
! lay inactive. watching the feathery clouds
| that f1oated across the sky, tracing the
| ships wake as it wound over the CLASSY
| surface OF the sea; nights in which ne saw
| again the chill shadow creep Up the COT
| tage wall. and the face fashion itself out
| of the shadow, and the fash of blood that
ended it all. And then his hand would seek
| the thing that he carried in his breast. and
| he would look at ii stealthily In the moon
light and laugh exultngiy to himself
! Once more he was on land. in the crowded
| U IA
| Lumbervllle; it is a long distance, almost
| half way across the continent. But he had
got plenty of time to do that which he had
| come to do
| His money would not suffice to carry him
| the whole way. For two days he Travelled
| by the railroad, fancying in the motion oil
| the cars that he was still at sea; expecting
| almost as he looked from the windows OF
| the car to see the leaden-colored waves.
| and the gray mist, and the tanges OF ioat-
| ing sea-weed Then his money was gone,
| and he must walk.
| Rough loosely made roads, thick with
| sand and grit. Long days tramps under
| the broiling sun, when the little hillock or
| the stunted tree, that looked so close al
| nand across the unbroken level of the prai-
| RE was only reached after half an hour S
| weary walking. Starit nights, when he
| cast himself down on the long, coarse grass
| to sleep the deathlike sleep of exhaustion
| to dream once more that heVeT-chalS my my
| dream. Homesteads of hewn timber. where
! he was made welcome in a rough, yet
| kindly fashion, where he was allowed to
| sleep, perhaps, on a bed OF straw IN the
| empty barn, where round-eyed children
| brought him milk and hunks of bread
| and stayed behind to stare at the silent
uncouth man. Cities of six months growth
| proud in their uprising buildings, which
| never would be finished. and their mighty
| streets which never would be built. Cities
| in which he was received with cold suspi-
| cion as another competitor In that struss-
Cling throng of hungered humanity, whence
| he watched on his departure with I'M
concealed relief
| More homesteads, more aspiring cities
| more of the rolling boundlessness of the
! praries.
And then-Lumbervile.
CHAPTER H.
1t was half-past three in the afternoon
when the limping fgure-his clothes torn
and grimed with dust, his face and hands
| scorched and scanned and biackened by ex-
| posure-slouched up under the shade of the
eucalyptus trees that skirted Omaha Ave
| nue..
His right hand was hidden in his breast
| His hungry. blcOdsnot eyes scanned tbs
| houses furtively as he passed.
| Number twenty-S!X.
| The man faltered. His hand tren bled-
| even twitchcd once or twice convulslvely-
beneath his coat His eyes turned-iEvolun.
| tarilv as It were-toward the house, and
| met the cres of woman who was sitting
in the porch.
| A -niddle-aged woman with a pleasant
| comely face, who lay Rack in her chair
| tanning herself and rocking gently TO and
fro in the shadow of the veranda. AS the
eyes Of the Silent Mar met hers, in d va
| cant Wild looking stare, she ceased rocking
and smiled. but not unkindly.
well, you're pretty figure, anyhow
she said.
There was pause. The Silent Man still