Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-11-03
TX

frown puckered his forehead and he held
an open letter in his hand.
Outside, the dark sky and cold, searching
breeze proclaimed the raw English spring;
inside, the partly dismantled walls Of the
room. the emptied drawers and wardrobe
the trunks, bags and rugs standing ready
strapped all suggested another and more in
viting climate. Milbanke was bound for
the south
Three months earlier he had come to the
momentous conclusion that a solitary life
: in London-spent no matter how comfort
ably-becomes a colorless and somewhat
empty thing after a thirty-three years ex-
perience. He had his club and his friends,
1t was true, but he was not clubman born,
and friends must be very intimate to be all
sufficing. At ifty-fve that restlessness
middle ged ba chelor had fallen upon him.
The suggestion that he craved new sur
ruundings and new fields of interest had
been slow IN comng-and his acceptance of
it had been slow. But steadily and ineV-
itably it had grown into his consciousness.
maturing almost against his will. until at
last the day had dawned on which he had
admitted to himself that Il change was in
dispensable. The subsequent events had
followed in natural order His hobby had
urged him to leave his own country for one
richer in association; the damp cold of the
English winter coupled with the chilled
the idea of southern Europe. The result of
this triple suggestion was that he stood in
his room on that spring morning in the last
stages of preparation for a journey to
Italy.
He stood there with the discomfort Of
packing pleasantly accomplished and the
array of his belongings neatly surrounding
him: yet his attitude and expression We're
those OF a man who is faced by an insur-
mountable and unlooked-for difficulty. With
nervous gesture he shook out the letter
that he held and began to read 1t hastily
for the fourth time. 1t was long letter
written in a careless, almost boyish hand
on thin paper, and bore the address of
"Orristown, Ireland 1t was dated two
days earlier and began:
Dear Mr.. Milbanke-You will be very
much surprised to get this, but l write for
father, not for myself He had bad acct
dent yesterday while out riding and is ter
more is with him all the time, and my
aunt-as we'll Nance and $50 he is we'll
cared for. But he seems to get worse in
stead of better and we are dreadfully
frightened about him.
There Is one thing he constantly Graves
for-and that is to see you. Ever since that
night three years ago when you and he
qua1reled and you went away l think he
has been frettng about you. OF course he
has never spoken of it, but 1 don't think
he has ever forgotten that he treated you
badly.
This morning he talked great deal
about the time when you and he were
young together; so much SO that I asked
him If he would like to see you. The mo-
ment l mentioned it his face lighted up,
but then at once it clouded over again and
he muttered something about never giving
any man the chance of refusing him IA
vor.
'"rhat is how he feels about asking you to
come here. but I feel differently. I would
risk anything hundred times over on the
chance of bringing you to him. And if
you are In London please do come if only
night Don't refuse for he is
very bad. Any time you send me tele-
gram the trap can meet you either at Mus
keere or Dunhaven.
This is q dreadful letter. but have been
up all night and scarcely know what l am
writing.
Answer as soon as possible.
"CLODAGH ASsHLIN."
Milbanke scanned the letter to the last
line; then as he reached the signature the
inertia that had pervaded his mind was sud-
denly dispersed. His own shock of sorrow
and dismay, his own interrupted plans
faded from his consideration; and in their
place rose the picture of great white
house on the lonely Irish coast; of a sick
children and a couple of faithful. inefficient
servants. With an energy he had not
evinced for years he crossed the room.
stumbling over straps and pa?tels, and rang
the bell with imperative haste.
When surprised maid appeared at the
door he turned to her with unwonted ex
element.
Il have telegram to send' he said;
zone that must go at once"
The rest Of that day. with its suddenly
altered plans, its long railway journey from
Paddington to New Milford and its stormy
night crossing from the latter point to the
town of Waterford, was too beset with
haste and confusion to contain any definite
recollectons for Mibanke. 1t was not
I'll he had taken his seat at O'Clock next
morning in the small and leisurcly train
that TRANSPORTS DdSSen gers from Waterford
to the seaport of Dunhaven that he found
time to realize the significance of his jour
ney; and not until he descended from his
carriage at this latter station and was
greeted by old Burke the Orristown re-
taner that he fully appreciated the gravity
of the incident that had occasoned it.
There was no change apparent in Burkes
familiar face save the gloom that over
hung his expression. But this was obvious
to Milbanke at first glance.
You're welcome, sir were his opening
words; then the underlying bent OF his
thoughts found vent "'Tis sorrowful
house you'll be findin'," he added, in a sub
dued voice.
MiIbanke glanced up sharply from the
rug he was unstrapplng.
How is hep he asked. Not worse?"
Burke shook his head.
"TwouGn't be wishin' Cor me to give you
the bad word he began, Geprecatin
Then he is bad?"
The old man pursed Up his lips.
"Ah, I'm in dread it's for his long home
he's bound, he SAID, reluctantly. Glory
be to God an His holy ways. But tbs of
thin two poor children that do be think
In"
But Milbanke's mind was occupied with
his first words.
''But how is he?' ne demanded. What
is the injury? Has he an efficient doctor?"
Again Burke shook his head.
'Docthors?' he said. obviously. "WiSha.
l DON'T put much pass on docthors; not but
what they say Docthor Gallagher from Car
rigmore is fine hand wild the knife. But
sure when the Almighty takes the notion
to break every bone in mans body.
'tisn't for the like of docthors to be settin
up TO mend them
With this piece of pessimistic philosophy
/ he picked up Milbanke's bags and rug and
guided him through the small station into
| the open, where the Orristown trap stood
waiting in a downpour Of rain.
He impaired little more information dur
| ing the long drive, and Milbanke had to sit
| under his dripping umbrella with as much
| patience they could muster while they
| ploughed forward over an eXecrabe road
| The gateway of Orristown. when at last
| it was reached. looked moldy and forlorn
| In the chilly damp of the atmosphere; and
| az they plunged up the avenue al the usual
| reckless pace, a perfect torrent of rain
drops deluged them from the intersecting
! branches of the trees Yet despite the
| gloom and the discomfort thrill of some
| thing like pleasure filed Milbanke as n
wn!ff OF clean cold air brought the scent of