The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1897-09-11
CHAPTER V.

days. The uncertainty of everything,
yet, to me, the utter hopelessness.
The dread of what any moment might
make known to me. The searchers
searching and hoping to find-wbat?
For knew that the success of their
quest could only bring me the dead
body of my darlipg-murdered, per-
haps, for the sake of the money he
carried. Yet hardest of all to bear
was the knowledge that the sorrow
manifested by those around me was
only assumed out of respect to me;
that no one believed Walter to be
dead; that the wicked cruel Islander
which had framed itself in Mr..
Leach's mind had entered into the
minds of others. | could read the
thought in the faces of all who came
near me during those days | knew
that the paid seekers performed their
task with smile on their Hps-that
the word went around among them
that, in order to be successful, the
search should be, not for dead, but
for living man to find whom it was
needful to look further away. How
was it | did not go mad?
cared nothing when some one
told me that the property, house, and
all were advertised for sale in a few
weeks time. | thought of nothing,
saw nothing but the cold, still face of
the one | loved. wished for moth.
ing now but to see his name cleared
from the stain thrown upon it-a
stain he would have needed more
than death; this done, | wished to die
that was all. The wild thought
which had at first entered my head,
that the men to whom he had owed
the money had taken it and made
away with him, was at last dispelled;
for proof was positive that Walter
had not gone to Bristol on that fatal
morning. The passengers from the
station we're too few, and Walter too
we'll known not to have been noticed
Indeed, no ticket for the class by
which he would certainly have trav-
eled had been issued that day. No
one had met him that morning, and
he had disappeared without leaving
a trace; for people told me that every
inch of the country near had been
secured. But | knew they deceived
me, and that the wicked thought was
in every heart, although moo dared
to speak it in words to me, who knew
him and loved him.
Mr.. Mainwaring, whom l had al
most forgotten in my grief, came
down in the course of few days.
Unfit as l was for business, was
compelled to see him. The kind old
man was in great distress and anxiety,
but he was very good to me. He
started when he saw that l had al
ready put on mourning.
" 1t is dreadful" he said, with tears
in his eyes, and taking both my hands
in his. mot that | care for the
money so much-although, of course,
l must make up any deficiency my
self, having been guilty of such ir-
regularity. 1t is dreadful to think
that l, who tried 10 help Walter,
must strip his wife and children of
their last shilling. l trusted him so
that | let him have my clients money
simply on his note of hand, bearing,
of course, all responsibility myself.
1t was most irregular; but he was so
urgent, and | wanted to help him.
Poor girl l will do what l can for
you, but | am afraid it can be but
little"
/ begged him not to think of us,
and thanked him again and again for
his great kindness.
would, if only in my own in
terests, pay the money again and
stop the sale; but no one has the
power to mortgage the property to
me. We do not even know that
Walter is dead. 1t cannot, cannot be
true, what everyone seems to hint
at9" he added, almost shamefacedly.
burst into a food of tears and
almost fell at his feet.
Not you, Mr.. Mainwaring! Not
you'll" l sobbed out. " You who knew
him, and knew that dishonor was not
in him! Let me think that one, at
least, believes in my dead love. Would
to God, for my sake, it were as peo-
pie think, so that l might some day
see him again
The kind old friend raised me.
NO." he said; 81 don't believe it.
l have known him from boy, and |
knew his father before him. They
lie who say Walter Linton could
have done such thing. But it is
all very, very, dreadful"
r.