The Newtown bee., 1901-11-08

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lee was there, too, with his recollections
Of four generations. Men and woman
who had been in their prime when
Wesley went away were old now, and
the children were grown up and mar.
ried
Theodosia was 35 and was nothing
like the slim, dimpled girl who had
stood on the porch steps and watched
her husband drive away that morning
Is years ago. She was stout and come
ly: the auburn hair was darker and
arched away from her face in smooth
shining waves instead of the old-time
curls. Her face was unlined and fresh
cOlOred, but no woman can live for SO
many years in subsection to her own
unbending will and not show it. No.
body looking at ThedOSia now would
have found it hard to believe that a
woman with such determined, inn
movable face could stick to course of
conduct in defiance of conseq uences.
Wesley Brooks was almost forgotten.
People knew through correspondents
of Green and Cary that he had prosper
ed and grown rich. The curious old
story had crystalized into accepted his
tory.
A life may 60 on without ripple or
disturbance for so many years that it
may seem to have settled into lasting
calm; then, suddenly, a passing wind
of passion may sweep over it and leave
Such time came at last to TheOdosia
after the long, tagging years that fol-
lowed WeSley'S Departure
Cne day in August Mrs Emory Mer-
rift came in. Emory Merritt's sister
was Ogden Greene's wife, and the Mer-
ritts kept up an occasional correspon-
dence with her. Hence Cecilia Mer-
rift always knew what was to be known
about Wesley Brooke and always told
TheOdosia, because she had never been
expressly forbidden to do so.
To-day she looked slightly excited.
Secretly she waswondering if the news
she brought would have any effect
whatever on Theodosia's impassive
calm.
"Do you know, Dosia, Wesley's real
sick? In fact, Phoebe Green says
they've very poor hopes of him. He
was kind of ailing all the spring, it
seems, and about month ago he was
took down with some kind of slow fever
they have out there. Phoebe says they
have hired nurse from the nearest
town and a good doctor, but she reck-
onS he won't get over it. That fever
goes awful hard with a man of his
years.
Cecilia Merritt, who was the fastest
talker in Heatherton, had got all this
out before she brought up by queer
sound, half-gasp, half-choke, from The
odosia. The latter looked as if some
one had struck her blow.
'Mercy, Dosia, you amt going to
faint! I didn't suppose you'd care.
You've never seemed to care.'
"Did you say" asked Theodosia,
"that Wesley was sick-dying?"
"Well, that's what Phoebe said.
She may be mistaken. Dosia Brooke,
you're queer woman. 1 never could
make you out, and l never expect to-
guess only the Lord who made you
can translate you.'
Thedosia stood up. The sun was
getting low, and the valley beneath
them, ripening to harvest, was like
river of gold. She folded up her sew
ing with steady hand.
cts five O'Clock, and I'll ask you to
excuse me, Cecilia. have good deal
to attend to. You can ask Emory if
he'll drive me to the station in the
morning. Pm going out to Wes."
She went into the house with firm
step.
"Well for the lands sake!' said c.
ella Merritt, feebly, as she tied on her
striped Bingham sunbonnet.\ She got
up and went home in daze.
Theodosia packed her trunk and
worked all night, dry-eyed, with agony
and fear gnawing at her heart. The
iron will had snapped at last, like a
broken reed, and fierce condemnation
seized on her.
"I've been a wicked woman she
A week from that day TheOdosia
climbed up from the dusty stage that
brought her from the tation over the
prairies to the unpretentious little