The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1903-11-27
CHAPTER xxi.
But Life Went On.

Her father was dead; she knew 1t;
she accepted it in silence after the
first wild return to the realization of
what had come upon her. Only once,
when she was alone with young Green,
while they were making preparations
to convey the body home, did she
show any sign of emotion. She was
standing at the little window in their
parlor looking out upon the busy
| street. Dora, who had come to her
upon receiving the telegram Of her
uncle's death, was in the inner room
with Mrs. Allen and the doctors and
one or two of the attendants.
Her father was dead-dead. Never
before had she seen death. She knew
absolutely nothing about any other
life, about anything beyond the days
that passed much alike to her-or had
passed much alike to her until these
| friends came into her life. Heaven
was where the stars We're; her astro-
nomy told her of God, an infinite Be
ing all powerful, all merciful; the
Creator of all things, but farther than
that she knew nothing.
Thought crowded upon thought, yet
with a distinctness mingled with
those strange half Ineligible words
Of the past, that was intense suffering
to her. She was in half stupor with
her brain so active that it was
wearing away her very life. DR.. Dun
wddie said that she must be aroused;
she must be brought out of this state;
she must be moved to tears, or to
some utterance of her grief. She
could not go on like this. For year
now she had been in this strained
state of feeling. He turned to Dora
in this time of need. She was not the
pale girl who arrived at the mountain
year before; her face had filled out;
her cheeks no longer bore the hectic
flush, but held the soft color of ad-
vancing health, while her eyes had
lost their strained look of suffering.
DR.. Dunwiddie called her over to
him by the window that morning and
she went to him obediently.
Something must be done for your
cousin" he said, gravely. She is in
such a state of half consciousness, her
senses dulled by too much strain upon
them that she is in danger of losing
her mind. Go to her. You are wom-
an, and will know what to do
But | don't know what to do" she
said as gravely as he had spoken. Or.
Dunwiddie, Loire is SO different from
other girls, don't know what to say
when she is like that"
1T sounds cruel" he said. Miss
Dora, but it is the only thing that can
be done, and is true kindness.
you are always kind" she said
softly, and the soft eyes lifted to his
were womanly eyes, and the tender
dropping face was a sweet face to him.
I'VE will take her away from here as
soon-as-all is over. We return to
New York next week. Dr. DunwIddie.
There is so much there to take her
mind from these things; the change
will be good-better than anything
else, will it not?'
You are going-so soon?" he said
and the grave voice proved the inward
control of the tumult in his heart
"Dora-Dora, will you leave me with
no promise. no word of kindness, no
hope that | may see you again, have
you-love you? You are very kind. to
every one, Dora johnson, out of the
pure sweetness of your heart-be kind
to me and tell me of some kindly
thought"
They had forgotten for the moment |
the girl in the other room. Dora's
hands were close in his, Dora's tender
face was lifted up to his with a half
shy sweetness upon it, Dora's lips |
were whispering something. he scarce
ly knew what, only knew that Dora
was giving to him the tender. sweet. |
womanly heart with its purity and |
truth-giving this into his keeping to |
be held. thank God. through all their
lives as the sacred thing it was-a
woman's tender heart.
Then. by and by-only a minute IL |
might be. yet with a LIES change to |
them-DOra drew away her soft. |
warm hands. and a new expression |
was on the sweet face. lifted with its |
fearful eyes to the face above her