Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-01-31
CHAPTER vi.

1t was one week later that Frances
Gambler wrote her second letter to Durkin.
She wrote 1t feverishly and without effort,
impetuous page after page, until she came
to the end. Then she folded and sealed It,.
as though in fear that some reactionary
sweep of hesitation might still come be-
tween her and her written purpose.
II was wrong; I was terribly wrong
was the way in which she began her letter.
For as told you in my cable, 1 am COM
ing back. 1t is now all useless and hopeless
and too late. And 1 thought, when 1 was
once away from you that it would be easy
to learn to live without you; but during
these last few weeks, when l have been
so absolutely and so miserably alone, l
have needed and cried for you-oh Jim,
how l have needed you! l have learned
too, how even an inf1exible purpose, how
come more sinister than the bindest selfish
ness. 1t was cruel and cowardly in me,
for, as you once said, we must now sink or
swim together. l forgot that you. too, were
alone; that you, too, needed help and COM
partnership, even more than 1; and l had
thought that morality and its geography,
that mere flight from my misdoings meant
that they were ended; that here in some
quiet spot l could be rid of all my past;
that could put on new character like
new bonnet; that life was straight and
never-ending lane. and not blind mole
run forever, forever winding and crossing
and turning itself! l thought that
could creep away and forget you and what
l had been and what l had lived through
and what had been shown to me; but the
world is not that easy with us. 1t defeats
us where we least expect A., 1t turns against
us when we most need it. l had always
DIRE. .med that my uncles high-walled home
at Oxford could be nothing but a place Of
quiet and contentment l had always
thought of it a cloister, into which
could some day retire and find unbroken
rest and solemn sort Of happiness Then
a the revelation the hlOW that the
very ground from under my feet They
had their troubles and their sorrows, as
we'll as 1. Life could hang as dark for
them as it hung for me. My cousin AL
bert, mere boy, reading for the bar in
London, had friend in the city named
singford l will try to tell you every
Young Singford is rather black sheep, of
an idle and wealthy family He involved
Albert in a Safeguarding scheme-oh,
such a transparent and childish scheme,
his father. He had to have money to cover
his losses; it would be paid back within
the month. His father, the soul of up
rightness, borrowed the money from what
in the belief that it would be promptly
repaid. Then came the crash. l found
them broken and dazed under it, helpless.
hopeless, bewildered. 1t was so new to
experience! I went straight to London,
and hunted up my cousin. who was ac-
tually talking about shooting himself. 1
found that young singford, who had been
sent down from Balliol, had blindly
plunged with Albert on some foolish
Texas oil enterprise. I needn't tell you
more. except that the whole sum was not
quite two hundred pounds. But it meant
Albert's giving up his study and my uncle's
disgrace. 1 Strengthened it out for the
poor boy-it all seemed easy and nat
hand!-and 1 believe 1 brought some lit..e
peace and comfort back to that crushed
and despairing household. But it all
means, of course, that now I'll have to go
have to go through, or whatever happens
to me, shall always have the consola-
ton of knowing that l made that one small
sacrifice and did that one small kindness.
But from the first l saw that my sanctu-
airy was no longer sanctuary. And
when l saw that ! should really have to
go back, 1 was almost glad. The very
thought Of it seemed to give a new zest to
life. I had been trying to tell myself that
my future there would not be empty and
lonely. But all along, in my secret heart
my eyes to anticipation; I could not shut
activity out of my life. 1t seemed sud-
denly to people all my lonely future with
possibilities, that first thought of going
lieve all along that it was you I wanted.
l tried to argue myself away from the
feeling that l was deserving you, but l
knew it was true. 1t was this feeling that
saved me, that made me feel almost elated,
when l saw that fate was once more fling
ing me into the life from which had been
fighting to escape. You don't know what
the very word America now means to me
its like the shrill of call-bell, it's like
the double Il of our operating days, warn
ing to be ready! 1 want to go home;
and home, now, is where you are. I can't
entomb myself yeti am too young. l
want to live, Jim, I want to live! Those
feverish years must have left some virus
in my VEINS some virus of recklessness
and revolt. And there is so much to do,
SO many things are challenging u.s. wait
ing for us. 1 cannot be satisfied with
memories, and yesterday. I want tomor-
row, and you! 1t may be blind, and
wrong, and wicked-but, oh, Jim, the wires
are all down between my head and my
hearth