Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1898-12-01
CHAPTER XXI.

seemed sent to wall over the world.
The study where David Temple sat
was as CHEEKY as freight and shaded
lamplight could make it. He was con-
scious only vaguely of the suffering
Goals sending up fuchsia tinted sparks
and of the torrential rain shaking the
window castings while his thoughts
wandered into dreams Of other places
| and times.
Save for the servants he now lived
alone in thu old Waverly place house.
1t was strange to sit there on this Jan
uary night and hear neither voice nor
footstep. to find himself listening gladly
to the clocks light strokes, feeling de-
| pressed when the last vibration had
! whirred into the silence.
Olga had been dead six months. He
thought of her grave in Greenwood, her
mothers but the reach of an arm from
her-the finale to story in those two
mounds-of DIR. Ericsson, gone to spend
his last years in Sweden, in the house
/ where he was born and which had come
to him few months before through the
/ death of a brother; of Anne but lately
I returned to her old rooms. her life un-
! changed.
| David rose and paced the room, line
creeping down between his brows. The
| silence seemed speaking to him of Anne
| tonight. She had been the star of his
! life,s He freely acknowledged it, She
had drained much of the bitterness from
his adversities. No man could have had
a more satisfying companion, better
friend. These blessings had been his,
though they were neither his right nor
| his reward.
He wanted tp tell her this and more.
She had been ill., the result of heavy
cold, and ON the morrow would leave for
! holiday in the south Something urged
/ him not to let her leave New York with
out expressing what she had no doubt
come to realize-how much her going
from under the same roof had taken from
his life
eyes, miss her." he said in con-
centrated accents as be stood still and
listened with the subtler inner hearing
to the vast silence wrapping the house.
He stepped into the hall. The gas was
burning brightly, but the curve of the
/ high staircase was lost in shadow. He
/ thought of how often Anne had come
down, humming song But few
! nights before DR.. Ericsson's departure
he remembered her coming back half
way to say good night to him, and how
her long braid Of hair becoming loosen
ed had swept his cheek like silky LASH
1t had been an incident for laugh
then, but now the memory of her tress'
touch her hand, her eyes, made him
resent his loneliness.
He went into the drawing room, but
came out of it quickly. 1t was there
among the teacups and in the freight
j he had asked Olga to be his wife, there
her coffin had stood 1t was hated
room Ghosts were its tenantry.
Going back to the study fire, he lit a
cigar The past unrolled itself before
him, and he tried to approximate the
years to come. The deductions from bis
reasoning were as clear and strong as if
spoken by bell-lilSe voice beside him.
/ Loneliness was horrible. 1t turned o
man into an intellectual machine, warp,
ed hi" nature, put him out of touch
with his kind. Once he had been proud
to stand quite alone, absolute master of
every heart throb and every moment,
but he had tasted the joy of sympa-
thetic woman's daily companionship
and was untitled forever for self con-
tanned life where the ego was supreme
and ambition the ruling passion.
If he had learned this from the year
of life under one roof with Anne, how
much deeper the lesson would be if she
had been his wife. If Anne had been
his wife The words filled him with
passive regret as he lifted her photo
graph from the mantel and looked into
the eyes which seemed even there to
question and comfort him.
II he could have loved her, if he could
but love her now, as any man, the
greatest, might be proud to love her
His feeling for her was very near the
richest his nature could terminate
Gentleness and sympathy were lin it,
pride and reverence. 1t but lacked pas
sion to make it perfect. This he had
known for one woman, heady, unrea-
soning, Intoxicating love, without sub
stance or depth. Anne did not arouse it
in him, he could not add it to the in
volved longings which made her neces-
sary to him, very probably it would for
ever escape him.
Need this prevent him from asking
her to be his wife, from making her
happy should she give herself to him?
What he had to offer was better far
than what he lacked-the fever of pas
sion which could thrive in the most
meager natures, the most evanescent,
the basest ingredient of all in love.
Anne could be dear and necessary to him
/ without this madness which could never
come again to him. Without being in
love with her, he loved her tenderly
4 Was there as much Importance in the
subtle difference as romantic minds sup
posed?
His head was cool, his heart craving
sympathy. He desired urgently not so
much Anne's kiss as her companionship,
not to give himself into her power and