The midland journal., 1897-05-21

|
sible and practical, and showing forth
in every line the nobility and true
heartedness of the writer. None the
less, she should have known-she would
have known, had she really loved him
that her proposal could be accepted
only on the condition he had imposed
that single sentence of warm affection
from her at such a time would have out
weighed all the acts of self-abnegation
that could be crowded into lifetime.
And yet he could not help wishing that
he had not been SO prompt to return
cold formality for kind-hearted COM
mon sense. She would doubtless be
glad enough to be free-oh, that, of
course; but he might have been as
frank and informal with her as she
had right to expect him to be-as
their long friendship and engagement
demanded. And just here brush from
the nettle of shame stung him. How
could he ever hope that she would at
tribute any but the basest motive to his
letter when she learned the truth about
Elsie? Would she not always accuse
him in her heart of having been glad of
the preteXt afforded by his loss for
breaking openly an engagement which
had been long ignored in secret? He
was sUre she would, and he checked
himself impatiently when he found
that he was setting the contempt of
the woman he had asked to release him
above the love of the woman who had
saved his life.
That thought brought back to him
Elsie and the present. Had she really
saved his life? Was it quite beyond
doubt that she was the one woman in
the world who could lead him out of
himself into sphere of usefulness and
accomplishment? 1t was by no means
rs clear and welldefined as it had ap-
peared to be on that day when he had
sat up among the pillows and fancied
himself inspired. Nevertheless, as he
had accepted the help, he must abide by
the choice of that day-and he would,
come what might.
No matter which way it turned, the
train of reflection led quickly to dis
| comforting conclusions, and Thorn
dyke was glad when the sound of dis
| 'ant whistle assured him that he could
presently pass from the depressing at
| fnosphere of introspection Mto tempo
rary oblivion of action. 1t was but
step across to the railway, and he was
tired enough to postpone taking it un-
| til it became a necessity. The whistle
sounded again, and he sat lazily watch
ing the eye of yellow light staring
southwark from the signal lamp over
he's station, while the rumble of the ap-
preaching train foated up the valley
On the evening breeze. Had he known
that Glenco was flag station for the
| night train. and that he was the only
| passenger, he would have bestirred him
| self when the lamp flashed red and then
back to yellow again in answer TO the
engiueer's call for signals. After that
it was too late; there was rush and
roar, a discordant changing of the en-
gine bell mingled with the kissing of
steam, and before he could cross the
| street the train had thundered past
without stopping.
Circumstances, and the power to
pick and choose among the possibili-
ties, have much to do with ones peace
of mind. Half an hour earlier Philip
| had debated with himself the neces-
sity for hurrying back to Allacoochee
that night. The small hotel was clean;
| the supper had been of the kind which
prophesies O wholesome breakfast;
| and he was weary enough to call it a
days work and go to bed. None the
less, when he realized that his last
chance for reaching Allacoochee had
faded into distant roar and two red
eyes staring back at him down the
long stretch of straight track
north of Glenco, he was i'm
nediately possessed with an i'm
Fortunate devil of impatience. AS
matter of fact. since there was an early
train in the morning, it could make lit
tie difference whether he slept at Glen
co or at his room at the Johannisberg;
but it was part of his plan that he
should reach Allacoochee at once, and
go he must, if he had to walk. So
much he said to the hotelkeeper, who
was at a loss to understand the impa-
walk, he said; it was only ten miles.
And then, again, man might ride, if so
be he were willing to pay for a horse.
Philip caught at the alternative and Of
fered to pay literally. The horse was
found, and after many minute direc-
tions about the road, which were quail
fed, repeated and amended until they
were hopelesssly obscure, Thorndyke
rode away in the darkness.
Having set out in haste, he had am
pie time to repent in leisure. The road,
little used at any time, and practically
abandoned since the opening of the
railway, soon led away from the valley
and ran in tortuous windings and in
genious doublings over spur of Johns
mountain. At the top of the spur it
speedily lost it's identity in succession
of wood roads, and, after following sew
eral of the latter to their vanishing
points, Philip gave up the struggle and
determined to let the horse find the
way if he could. In common with un-
equestrian mankind in general, Philip
shared the belief in the inerrant path
finding instincts of horse; but after an
other hour of hesitant wandering, DUR
ing which time he had been thrice gar
roted by low-swinging branches, and
impartially bruised about the legs by
the efforts of the horse to squeeze be-
tween close-growing trees, his conf
dence in the sagacity of the animal be-
gan to waver From doubt to GER