Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1898-10-06
CHAPTER VIII.


most careless in the office of The Citizen
had commented upon the change in
Donald Sefain. He was no longer the
voluntary recluse, a man parading his
vices, eager to be judged by them alone.
He had learned to believe in his posi-
bilities. His fettered nature, feeding or
all that was rotten, had risen like q
daZed, hungry thing following an in
stinct for better food and freedom. Am
bition, a rebellious prisoner always, had
revived in him after he had striven to
cruelty it. It called to him in the long
nights, in his lonely walks, and its
voice was somehow Anne's:
"What have you done with your
life?''
The assertion of his best instincts had
left their marks upon the outer man.
His antagonism and gloom had almost
vanished; sc had his untidiness and air
of general dissoluteness. He carried
himself better, his clothes were BETTER
and they were worn as if he respected
them and himself.
AS his habits mended and his work
steadily improved David Temple treated
closer degree of intimacy between the
two men seemed impossible. They saw
each other seldom, save in the Office.
But Anne was the friend of both.
David visited her less often than in
the summer. his engagements were so
many but every hour he could spare
was spent in her pretty, out of the way
rooms. He let the social mask fall when
with her as with no one else. Any one
seeing him pacing up and down her
room, privileged cigarette between his
fingers, as he INDUCED in brilliant non
sense, laughing like boy when he
pulled her pet theories to bits as if he
blew away loose rose petals, would
scarcely have known him.
Anne loved these hours with him,
and her happiness went with her, alb
sorbing her thoughts to the detrirent
of the art so dear to her. The pen lay
dry upon the sheets of her novel. She
no longer struggled against the passion
ate effacement of self in anothers be-
ing She did not torment her heart by
looking for a growing love in David
eyes. She was content to drift. 1t was
L.
He sought her Familiarity. She knew
nothing of his life beyond the small
horizon of her own, and, feeling an an
ticipative joy which seemed to melt her
future with his, she was content.
DIR. Ericsson had much to engross him
and keep him away. The wild winter
weather had brought the usual illnesses,
and the Waverly place house was il
chaos, preparing for the arrival of his
wife and daughter after an absence OF
eight years.
Anne had plenty of leisure, and she
gave much of it to Donald Sefain. Be-
tween them they made some Of those
winter nights idyls Of joy for little Joe
Evans. He was very i'll. Giving way
to rest after Injured hardship seemed
like giving way to grief, and his weak
body collapsed.
He was in Donald's home, trio Of
small rooms in a street short distance
from The Citizen. They were cheap
apartments, but hopefully clean, presid-
ed over by clone" woman, Mrs. Null
ligan, who lived on the floor beneath.
Anne often went home with Donald
in the quick winter dusks, and, step
ping from the hall into the freight,
she would feel as if summer had come
across the snow and kissed her. The
room was always sweet smelling from a
bunch of flowers, the kettle always
singing, the lamp shaded.
"Ah, Joe, dear, if yez had seen me
whin was youngp' she had surprised
nc NIL cha lyY,if
ted beside the pillowed chair where Joe
reclined, pale from the languor of I'M
healthy sleep. "There was a sight for
ye! The girls of today with their
1rotched in bodies and white cheeks
stuck to the bone-what are they? All,
Rvick, girls were different in moy toime
Why, l shtud IA stone, weighed in me
stockings. Ne hair shtud out loike
baves on both soides of me head, alan
Ia, twas so thick. AS fer me cheeks, "
he added in climactic triumph, "they
htuck out loike apples and were that
ed ye cud bleed them with a shtraw."
On nights like these Donald's nature
eemed to expand and exult. He sur
>rised Anne by his humor, his mocl.ing
race as host his boyish play with Joe,
Who adored him. Sometimes wnen ne
cad aloud after dinner and Mrs. Null
igan sat motionless as a sphinx save
or the darting needles, Anne knelt on
he floor, her arms around the boy. His
everish mouth would creep close to
er ear and he would tell her how he
oved Mr. Sefain and how he was never
go back to the mines, never. Anne
you'd assure him of this while holding
i'm to her and kissing him in little
torn of love, and then her eyes would
ove over him, his hands with no more
INSTANCE than claws, dry and hot, his
ungry eyes seeming to hold life like a
icture before them in an endeayor to