The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1898-01-15

know what possessed me 70 sacrifice my
self to smallpox. Perhaps merely only to
crafty my own vanity. Now, to-day, when
1t is all over. rush to write to you and to
make an idiot OF myself. When l have
posted this / shall get into rage and wish
/ hadn't. But write to me! oh, do write;
write folly-anything; you can't think the
charity II would be-"
Poor little woman" he said, musing-
ly. "She's got lots of pluck in her! I'll
write and tell her she'd better get mar
ried."
Life and death went in and out of the
hospital, and the workers came and
went. The house physician left 1t in his
turn, and 12 months after he was sta
toned at Alden, where, perhaps, he had
less work than he desired. One after
noon the English mail brought him
a letter from Ruth. The writing on the
envelope set him thinking-sadly, may
be-of the old busy life in London, and
of the possibilities in her character for
which, at this distance of time and
space, he imagined he must have loved
her. He laughed at himself presently,
and opened the letter:
you said once was always fond Of do
ing something sensational; then you ad-
vised me to study Mrs Beeton' / have
studied 1t; for have often done what you
told me. But don't think shall live long
to dispense the good things / may learn
from that world-famed cookery book You
know there Is an old proverb: 'Toujours
perdrix" Well, 1t Is this with me. 'Tou-
jours parson.' He has driven me to take
more of your advice seriously-and / am
going to be married. Sometimes thing I
must be mad to contemplate domestic bliss
with religion l would gladly give any
thing-three years of my life-to really
enjoy things now while / am young and
could be gay It's awfully hard to be Just
nurse and to have to worry and wear my
self to death, and get thin and old and
cross and savage, while l see other women
with everything they want and all the fun
of life. Dear me! what nonsense / am
writing! Tear II up, but write to me. oh,
do write to me once more! | am so miser-
able. weary and lonely, and tired, dread
fully tired. of mechanically doing my duty"
Poor little Ruth! jolly little Ruth"
he murmured as he settled once more
comfortably into his lounging chair.
He rolled up and lit another cigarette,
and pondered for few moments over
his attraction to this woman. There
had been others Well, it is usually
with this kind of excuse that men re-
member their flirtations; and, of
course, hold themselves blameless. Per-
haps there may have been vague re-
greet in the doctors mind. Aden is not
place where old flrtations or platonic
friendships can be buried without re-
gret. 1t is place where the memory
of either grows tender, and recollection
glances back through them on England
and home, on green fields and young
LEAKAGE quivering in the spring sun
light; while the seeing eye is turned
ever on mass upon mass of lava and
brown rock. AS he looked out the drear
mountain that rises almost sheer from
the placid sea was glorified by the Grim
son fire of sunset, and though its clear
outline was cut grandly against the
rich light, it had become hateful to him.
With this thought on his mind he ended
his reverie, and went on opening his
mail letters. There Glanced to be some
Christmas cards among them, full of
good wishes and sentiment. One of
these had n pathetic little verse that
suited his humor, so presently he put
it in an envelope and sent ii off TO Ruth
with the outgoing mail. This was not
fair. for he knew that at the time she
received il she would be married, and
this, so far as he was concerned, closed
the correspondence.
Once more she wrote, a little more so
berly perhaps:
THANK you so much for that card you
sent! After all, / am only Nurse Ruth in
thonphtS miDg-wcll