The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1907-04-03

pen could hope to follow the IHouSh'@
passing through a mans brain? WIN
yard Mistley lay watching Lena tor
about five minutes, but five pages OF
mine could not tell a 1.-THE OF what
was passing in his mind.
Presently he rose gravely from the
sofa, and stood for a moment by the
mantle-piece, supporting himself with
both hands. His back was turned
toward Lena, and on the lean brown
face reflected in the mirror-at
which, however, he never glanced
there was a strange, restless express
sion..
Contrary to her custom, Lena
failed to look up. She did not even
ask him if there was anything he
might require. Then he slowly
turned and made his laborious way
across the room, assisting himself
with one piece of furniture after an
other. Somehow she forgot to offer
him her help; somehow he had no
little pleasantly ready to make her
smile, and yet neither seemed to no.
tice the difference. She continued
her work-the stitches were unpicked
later on, being of very peculiar con-
STRAIGHTFORWARD Mistley stood close
at hand, looking down upon her bent
head.
There was an humble chair at her
| side, and into this he lowered him
--, .x.,1,- nftnr tho T09nnpr or
an old
Lena" he said, turning towards
her with a hungering look in his
eyes-Lena, do you think that a
man can be sure of his own mind if
the same thought has never left it
for nearly two years."
She bowed her head lower over
her work, still striving to make the
needle perform its right and proper
function, but answered him no word.
He leaned forward and took the
work from her hands, allowing it to
| fall to the ground. Then he quietly
took possession of those busy fingers.
Answer me-" he whispered-"an'
| swer me-"
Yes, 1 think So" she replied at
length.
Through it ALL" he said eagerly,
through danger and hope, through
work, through sleep, through hum
ger, sickness and success, there has
been one thought in my brain. That
thought was Lena-Lena-Lena!'
Still bending over her imprisoned
hands, she swayed unconscious to-
ward him. Then, somehow, he /. ind
his arms were round her, though he
had no recollection of placing them
there.
Three weeks later, n afternoon
as the sun began to throw a golden
a from west to east, up the English
Channel, a gunboat moved out INTO
Plymouth Sound, and cast her an
Choir there. The White Swallow was
ready for sea-''ready for anything"
her young commander said. Deeply
| laden with coal for her long voyage,
she was as taut and trim and spark
| ling as paint and polished brass could
make her.
Already the strong individuality of
the stalwart. ruler was beginning to
make itself d%iscernible among the
members of her company. The White
Swallow was eminently a quiet
ship. There was no shouting, no un-
necessary blowing Of b~oatsWaln,s
whistles. Everything seemed to fit
into it's place-eyery man into his
duties. And yet she was not a
gloomy ship, for every man looked
forward to his six years absence
with serenity.
About an hour before she was due
to sail a boat put off from the dock
yard, and in a few minutes was
alongside the gunboat. Seated in the
stern of this small craft was Lau-
rance Lowe. He climbed up the
white ladder, and made his way aft
with slow but assured steps. Charles
Mistley came forward to meet him,
and they turned toward the quarter
deck together.
1T is very good of you to come"
said the young sailor.
The old man did not appear to
consider that this required an an
swer. He looked around him criti-
cally with a practiced eye. 1t was
not the first time that he had trod-
den the deck of a man-of-war, though
his recollection of such dated back to
the days of the Crimea. He loosened
the old silk comforter that took the
place Of a top-coat on his spare
frame, and said:
You are ready?"
Eyes; we sail in half an hour"
The young sailor looked across the
smooth water to where the land rose
gently, green and tree-clad, toward
the blue heights Of Dartmoor. There
vas no shadow of fear in his clear
eyes, no sign of flinching from the
dreary years he knew he was facing.
And thus they stood side by side, the
old man whose voyage across the
troubled sea was nearly over-he had
made bad weather of it, beating up
against a head wind all the way-and
the young sailor-tall, stalWart, and
almost painfully self-contained-who,
like his companion, had met the
stress at the very beginning Of his
journey.
They talked a little in their usual
scrappy, unsatisfactory manner, and
then Laurance Lowe beckoned to his
boatman to haul up to the ladder.
He turned, and looked round the
vessel once more: then he raised his
solemn eyes to his companions face.
Tlo1, ,-orn ,,nncna11v Wide oman and