Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1907-04-02

when she found you gone"
This view was partly confirmed in my
mind when l found the back door I'M
bolted. After taking a hasty glance in
her room and round the garden we re-
turned to the Chase 1t was there she
sought me before she knew we were to
dine at the house; it was natural to sup
pose that She had taken the same path,
and had wandered from the open drive
into the deeper shade Of the park. Yet
my heart sang with a fearful misgiving
that the hope was delusive. We went up
to the house then separating we search
ed the alleys of the park, calling Psyche"
as we went. But no answer came.
l found myself on the spot where
had asked Ethel to be my wife and taken
her into my arms. Then, noticing a close
matched hedge. and remembering the
sound of a stihed sob that had reached
my ears, l felt convinced that it had
come from poor Psyche's wrung heart,
and that she, in seeing me embrace Ethel
as | had never embraced her, had learned
for herself what / had not found courage
to tell her-that / loved Ethel more than
| loved her.
MY poor little sister ~ l cried, and
waited with the last hope of hearing her
sweet voice echo poor little sister J" Not
breath broke the awful silence. Alone
went back 20 the cottage | called her
again and again in the garden, and went
into the house to search in every room
with blank hopelessness. Opening the
door of my own room, | found a trace
- L.. L. Al. L.
The room was strewn with fresh-cut
flowers. There were flowers on my pill
low, and beside them the ring that Ethel
lad put on her finger.
| sat down, unable to 60 farther, for
this touching souvenir was too signif-
cant to be misunderstood. Our converse
ton of the night before came back to
me. What she had said in speaking of
the impossibility of Ethel living with us
applied unto herself-"She could not do
that-it would be too much pain, more
than she could bear. She would rather
live alone than see that you are mine,
and not hers And she had found that
it. was for her to go away and live alone.
But where had she wandered?" / asked
myself, starting up as | realized the ne
cessity of finding the poor girl and sooth-
ing her agitation at once. | did not fear
suicide. Psyche scarcely knew what death
was; the possibility of seIf-destruction
was beyond her imagination. Had she
simply gone along the road, on and on,
with no other object in view but to get
away from the place where it was too
much pain to live? No. In her room
found clew to her destination. There
was a cupboard in which she kept with
a strange love the relics she had brought
away with her from the cave. The rough
serge sack in which she worked by nv
side in the burrow, the shoes she wore
when the days work was done, the neck
lace of shells that l had ground on a
flint and threaded together--they were
gone, and beside her bed lay all the
clothes l had given her in her new life.
felt sure she had gone back to the
cave to live alone there with the memory
of those happy days when her heart
never ached.
1t struck me that among those things
which she could not find words to tell me
about was some sort of premonition of
this return. The old life was often in
her thoughts; but she had dwelt more
than usual upon the cave this last night.
Long after our conversation about Ethel
she said: Brother, do you remember the
pretty things we carved in the wall of
the cave? There was a piece you marked
in black that | never had time to finish.
Only a little more and it would be all
f. shed" And later on she said I'VE
have forgotten all about poor Cav; l
wonder if he would know me again, and
come on my shoulder if l called"
With these Iecollections coming to my
mind | ran across the downs. There
was only one way to the cave that she
knew, the way by which we had left it
together, and that way l knew she would
try to return by. l went down the gap;
to my CONSERVATION the water was up,
and after following the shore some dis
lance l was prevented by the sea from
going farther. l ran back, up the gap
and along the cliff in frenzied haste. Be-
yond Deadman's Point l looked down.
The light had so faded that l could bare
" distinguish the fragments of cliff
strewed on the shore from the foam of
the water breaking against them. Pres
emily l stood on the cliff just over the
Govern and strained my eyes in the dark
chaos of rocks and water below. A few
jackdaws were wheeling round half way
down; their cry was to me a terrible
omer. Then gulping down my choking
emotion. l called for the last time:
Psyche sister, Dear Psyche!'
1t may have been no more than mag
nation, and yet cold awe chilled me to
the heart as there seemed to fall upon
my ears that swelling rise and plaintive
fall of the aeolian song of my sweet lit
tie helpmate. As l rushed back along the
cliff met Sir Henry.
what is the matter?" he cried. "You
look like the ghost of yourself.
Poor Psyche is down there" l an
sNered through my sobs, still running on.
what do yea mean, Thorne" he said.
his voice almost as broken SIS mine.
"She has tried TO go back to the cave
l know it, know it and the water has
come up"
"Oh. heaven, have this to answer for,
too ~ he cried.
We dashed into the water like mad
men, and waded and swan till the point
was rounded, end then we got upon the
send and ran again till we came among
tie great boul.iers and ragged fragments
OF the fallen cliff.
And there ne found her just a little
beyond the receding waters in her drab-
hled dress. Her hands were clasped
tightly upon the string Of shells | had
put about her neck in days when she
knew no pain: and row in her sweet
child's face there was the same express
sion of innocent JOY il had worn then.
trust in Gods mercy that at last she for
got that there is suffering in this world.
and died with tie happieSt memories she
knew.
Ito bs continued.l