The semi-weekly messenger. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1897-1908, 1897-06-29

rible illness of his when he came so near
losing her and the future forever. he had
but one clear idea: that she must not
know. unless it were necessary: how
consequently. when the mails went out
they had carried his letters-short letters
telling of business rush and complica-
tions-but written at the cost of more
time and effort and painful. persistent
toll than had been required by any other
transactions in all his life in Japan. 1t
pleased him now to think how, overcome
with the wasting weakness of his dis
ease, even after he had ceased to care to
live on his own account. he had said TO
himself over and over again. that for her
sake he must try to get well: try. try,
when the langour and the ~heaviness were
so great that any effort seemed i'm
measurably harder than death. But for
her sake the effort had been made: and.
perhaps, because it was for her sake, had
been successful. )
deception; she had never known and been
distressed. But he was inconsistency
glad that it was not in her clear, trans
parent nature to treat him like that,
when illness came, in turn. to her.
The long train was moving more slowly
now; it had reached the desolate. un-
kempt outskirts Of the city. The young
man was almost sorry that he must so
soon part Ompan with the merry
rhythm Of the car wheels. which had
kept time to his happy thoughts all the
way across the continent.
What a strange thing that he had ever
thought it a sad world, human existence
a mistake. Pain and sorrow and suffer-
ing there were, indeed, and must be, but
! they were only the shadows that are ever
present where there is a shining sun. OF
these, he stood ready to take his share,
feeling that whatever came. life had al
ready dealt with him most generously,
and that no future could ever deprive him
of the joy that was his today. No. he
of the joy that was his today. No, he grew
more serious at the thought, not eyen
death, not even her death. could take
: away the remembrance of what they had
been to each other. Even if this were
the end, I thank God for the paSt-and for
her" he thought, with the reverence that
somehow was never far distant when she
was in his mind.
The train was in; the long. weary
journey was over. He could hardly re-
aliZe that he was actually here, almost
within sight of his goal. With a strange,
smothered feeling quite foreign to the ma
ture of the usually cool, Self-reliant man,
he gathered up his few belongings and
was the first passenger to step upon the
platform.
He must go directly to his hotel-for
than thiS-and make himself preSentable;
then, as early in the afternoon IS the
prophecies allowed, he would goat last
to her.
He stood alone in the large and beuati-
full room he had known so we'll OF old.
and listened to her step as she came
slowly down the stairs. There was a
lii VI tIiiOLloiiS III Ills pICd@t' az
striving for the mastery. The transcend
ent moment of meeting, of which he had
not even dared dream, was at hand.
| Then she entered the room and came to-
wards him; and he knew. without formu-
lating the knowledge, that something
was over and that a strange and unex-
"Philip," she said, as she gave him her
hand in greeting, and then involuntarily
drew back a step. Il must tell you at
once; | cannot let this go on. l hoped,
, oh | hn,,al tho did NOT "a va I1t I
, fear | have made a terrible mistaken
THAI [ did not care?" he repeated, all
the light suddenly gone out of his face;
care for whom? What do you mean
EleanOr?'
For me-, she answered, in a voice
scarcely audible.
a dark cloud that obscured everything
before his eyes, and tried to fix his gaze
upon her face, which seemed the only
! stationary thing in all the room.
THAT did not care-for YOU" he
said, slowly, as if trying to understand
the words.
Sit down" she entreated, in a tone in,
finitely sweet and tender= Please sit
down, Philip, and | will explain"
He paid no attention to her request. but
steadied himself with his hand upon the
back of q chair.
Why did you hope 1 did not care for
yOu?" he asked.
"Because-because-oh. Philip! three
years are so long. and l have changed!'
she answered. brokenly.
Sometimes it requires time for adjust
ments to new ideas. But the moment
after the great calamitieS of our lives be-
fall us, it is to us as if we had known
them always: as if they had been facts
from the beginning Of time. Philip Har-
tranft was not conscious that the words
he had just heard changed his life; the
only thing that seemed unreal and
strange to him was his own light-hearted
mood of half an hour before. He waited
for what she would say next.
sI ko,o u,etn5 10 writa 1-orJ aJo1f
this she went on; for weeks l nave
known it, and have tried, again and
again, to tell you; but it has been toe
hard. 1 have torn up letter after letter
in which 1 have attempted to let you
know, but failed to say it as I wished to
say it to you. Then l thought 1 would
derstand, and for weeks l sent no word
but your letters came to me just the
same: and then L told myself that !
must wait until I saw you and tell you
to you
Has it, then, never been so much tc
Yes, at first. Oh, Philip. it brings the
tears to my eyes to think. of those days
three years ago, those beautiful days
just before you went away, so heavenly
bright. And during that first year OF
your absence. what a happy girl l was.
l used to walk on air, and l was full OF
gladness and love for all the world. L re-
member how, one dark. stormy morning,
when an excursion to which l had looked
forward had to be given up, my mother
said to me: L hope this disappointment
will not make you blue, Eleanor and ]
smiled and said: oh, no! and to myself
added, in joyous skepticism: I blue, 1
with my pleasant thoughts, Those day
were the happiest Of my life l think
such happiness will never come again
But that feeling passed away; can yol
tell me why. dear?'
For her face had kindled SO; as@she haC
spoken last. and she had been so like the
Eleanor who had belonged TO: him, that
his words came unbidden.
Not altogether. 1 have tried and tr1eC
to understand il, for myself. and TO tel
YOU. Some of the trouble do not know
how much-originated in my disappoint-
ment in the tone of your letters. l felt
that something was lacking from the very
beginning. During the first year. now
ever. my remembrance of you yourself
Counteracted the hill that came to ms
each time | read a new letter through. !
thought. This is but his manner II
writing. He surely loves me still, But
later your image became less vivid in my
mind. and the writer of the letter began
to seem more real than my recollection OF
$3.50, ,- I nod known Won" and so since