Washington standard. [volume] (Olympia, Wash. Territory) 1860-1921, 1899-03-10
CHAPTER MIL.

was as CHEEKY as flrellght and shaded
lamplight could make il. He was con-
scious only vaguely of the sirGttering
Goals sending up fuchsia tinted sparks
and Of the torrcntial rain shaking the
window castings. while his thoughts
wandered into dreams of other places
and times.
Save f0r the servants he now lived
alone i'll the 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 tho 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 all arm from
her-the finale to o story in those two
,nounds-of DR.. Ericsson, gone to spend
his last years in Sweden, i'll the house
where he was born and which had come
to him few months before through the
death of brother; of Anne, but lately
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. 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 to tell her this and more.
She had been ill, the result of heavy
cold, aud on the morrow would leave for
q 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.
"Yes, I miss her," he said in con.
centrated accents as he 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 q 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
he had asked Olga to be his wife, there
her coffin had stood. 1t was q hated
room. Ghosts were its tenantry.
Going back to the study fire, be lit a
cigar. The past unrolled itself before
him, and he tried to approximate the
years to come. The deductions from his
reasoning were as clear and strong as if
spoken by bell.like voice beside him.
Loneliness was horrible. 1t turned q
man into an intellectual machine, warp
ed his nature, put him out of touch
with his kind. Once he had been proud
to stand quito alone, absolute master Of
every heart throb and every moment,
but he had tasted the joy Of sympa-
thetio woman's daily companionship
and was untitled forever for o self con-
tanned life where the ego was supreme
and ambition the ruling passion.
II 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. II Anne had been
his wifei 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.
If 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 germinate.
Gentleness and sympathy we're in it,
pride and reverence. It but lacked pas
sion to make it perfect. This he had
known for one woman, heady, unrea-
soning, intoxicating love. without SUBJ
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.
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
lose himself in her, but to know the
happiness Of her dependence on him.
When his cigar was finished, he went
back to the table and looked down at
the letter he had commenced to her.
my dear Anne" The stereotyped
words were so wholly inadequate they
irritated him. He crushed the paper in
his palm and flung it into the fire. He
would 60 to her. AS he took his over
coat and hat from the stand in the hall,
he muttered impatiently:
"What shall I say to her? How can
put it to her:''
In q few moments he was on the
street, making his way against the wind
to her rooms on Washington place,
where some Of the most contented hours
Of his life had been spent.
The flames in the street lamps danced
under his feet in the drenched pave.
ments, the crossed streets lay in stormy
shadow, icicles on trees and palings
clinked in the rush Of the freezing rain;
once the numbed face of a beggar looked
1t him; once stray dog pressed lone
eomely against him as he strobe on.
The world seemed full of mist and pain,
but there was light in his soul and
Svhon ha caw tho <Srol;Dht ~, Aur,,o