The daily morning journal and courier., 1894-11-03

| me hhtc ana sure.
 | Deepest artifice could not secure 1t.
 Wiiiest surprise could not reveal 1t.
 As though 1t were the last slender | thread that held her to her own, she
 had buried this most needed thing. per-
 haps from the very horror of the fin-
 ality which might come from its utter
 ance. in the innermost depths of her
 irreconciliably tender yet cunning na-
 ture and life.
 The gray of the morning had come
 when arose to go. And would come
 again?-for at times the hours were
 lonely here. Yes. and yes and yes
 again, from me. if I could bring along
 friend. Then the sooner the better, the sweet old voice prattled and prattled on.
 To breakfast, then. this very morning. at ten-for this friend might know of him. Yes and yes again and again. as l stroked her silvered head and turned away.
 Then to my inn for few hours sleep-my story still untouched-where the face in the inkstand had wholly faded out with the night: and then I felt a solemn conviction that the sign had been real and sure and true.
 AS last. with all speed, to Royal Chel- sea hospital. where learned that Uncle Billy had suffered a sad turn in the night and where his pensloner com rades whispered he would follow Mike to Brompton now.
 Not if love can save himw I men, tally vowed: and In an hours time I had him clad in his flaming Prince AL bert and the smartest he possessed and safely beside me In Q swiftly whIrling hanson, headed for the Strand and Drury lane.
 With pursing lips, lowering brows, and wildly bulging eyes, the old pension CT essayed to speak, and as often in- creased his dazed wonderment but si- fenced him with, I've found friend who knew her. Uncle Billy"
 As we alighted in Drury lane, few old fruiterers standing at their doors nodded and whispered together:
 Maybe it's him. at last"
 Inside the hallway an impulse seized me to bid him remove his numbering shoes. He obeyed me unquestionably and We stole softly though laboriously up the stairway to Aunt Betty's open door. When we entered, the little | dwarf was busy in her hospital ward of the loft.
 seated Uncle Billy in the huge arm chair, drew the waiting slippers upon his feet and the old war-dog in an in- stant had closed his eyes as with mex | pressible peacefulness and rest.
 Then, stepping to Aunt Bettys side, | there was pleasant mvr1ilng greeting, just as though we had known each oth- CT for years.
 Aunt Betty" began with lilly sup pressed excitement. my friend is over there, by the fireplace. Won't you see | If he is in the right chair? I'll be back | from the sreet."
 l sped down that ancient stairway as though had committed capital crime. | But my flight was not swift enough to my hearing few quick thump- ings of Aunt Betty's staff upon the floor of the loft; hoarse gurgle of, Fore God!-Betty!-It's you! Purity | heyes, ump an hallp' sweet voiced rip- pie of, William Notwithstanding told me the waiting'd soon be done" and my knowing that in the blessed | silence which followed, as blssful love l as earth had ever known had found | anew its own.
 A murmur of eager impatience finally | the almost reverential silence | which had fallen upon the assembled | as the student travellers tale | was done.
 "But the story-the story" was chor- | used. Was that story ever written?" |
 "Eh?-Oh, yes: the story. Yes,", the | student traveller concluded musingly; | land quite in time for press. It was | story of grand and impossible | people whom grand and impossible peo- pie dearly love to read. while grandly l and impossibly ignoring such simple l lives and loves as these. But the story | of the face in the inkstand has never |