The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1898-05-25

dopo ~ u oliiy my uiOuey anu never
my happiness need trust to you"
Then, more gently: Excuse me
Desmond, if am rude. l did rot
mean to be, but shall miss YOU"
Desmond did not answer. exco1,i
to grasp the proffered hand warmly.
A moment later he was gone.
In the weeks following Desmond's
departure McDougal grew impatient
with himself. The days dragged
drearily and the evenings grew un-
bearable. He struggled against this
weakness until finally the thought
came like an inspiration, as it had
como to Desmond-why not write to
headquarters for a substitute and GO
to Helen, if only for single dayi
Ho wrote the letter that night,
and In the morning took it ovec to
meet the west going train. In tho
box that served as his individual
postoffice he found two letters-one
Helen's weekly message and the
other addressed in Desmond's char
acteristic hand. He snatched them
hastily apart. to stow Helen's safely
in his pocket to be read at home.
Desmond wrote only a word ION the
march, he said and inclosed draft
to cover his debt. The letter was
not dated and the postmark too dim
to be deciphered. On the bench out
side the door he read Helen's letter
"a long, dear letter, full of happy
plans for the future and of love for
him-but through it all there ran
vein of sadness that somehow mado
itself felt between the lines. In the
postscript she added: Something
tells me that you ought to be here.
I need you, dear" That was all,
but in after years, when time and
frequent handling had made the
pages fragile as dried rose petal,
he read that plaintive call to him
with an aching throat and through
blurring tears.
In due time the official leave came,
dated two whole weeks away. Those
two weeks passed, and the substi-
tute arrived. Like Desmond, Nc
Dougal took the midnight train and
hurried northward to the little
Washington village lat was Helen's
home.
AS he went ashore he regretted
that he had not told her of his inten-
ton. It would have been an added
happiness to see her sweet face ex-
pectant among the group of stran-
gers. He glanced at them carelessly,
then paused and stepped backward
for a second look at familiar figure
just disappearing in the cabin. 1t
certainly looked like Desmond, but
that was unlikely, and even if it
were why should he delay one mo-
ment2 A fierce impatienoe hurried
him on. At the house he was greet
ed warmly by the family. Helen
was not there, however, and some
one explained that she had gone out
in the afternoon and was still away.
Doubtless she would be back soon.
For an hour they eat there talk
ing, McDougal hearing with his out.
er ear only the questions that we're
put to him. at last he could control
himself no longer and rose abruptly.
Could he not go to meet Helen, he
asked, with what composure he
could command. They gave him
suoh help as they could as to her
probable whereabouts and, with
knowing smiles, released him to find
her. He was of in moment and
from place to place inquired for her
in voice compelled to be common
place, while his heart foretold
negative reply. AT last some one
had seen her in her boat alone pull
ing up the river. In five minutes he
was following up the pathless river
on whose ripping surface no print
of boat keel helped him on.
The hours went on, the dusk grew
to dark; but that Helen might now
be at home awaiting him he never
for moment thought She was
here, and he must find her
: He rested q moment on his oars,
and as ne leaned thus, scanning the
sedgy borders of the stream, the
moon threw her searchlight across
the gloomy waters. In the silvery
ray he saw dark object swaying
and swinging with the current. He
padded to it quickly. 1t was canoe
small, light and empty. From the
bow rope dropped into the water,
now hanging loose as an eddy swept
the boat backward, now pulling taut
from an invisible anchor. McDougal
caught the anchor rope and pulled it
gently and steadily toward him. He
felt strong resistance, then heavy
weight rising with his effort. He
dared not think what it might be,
and yet when woman's hand ap-
peared beneath his own he did not
start, except to clasp in his the poor
dead fingers. Oyer the bont's side
he leaned and drew her to him until
her fair head rose above the surface