Ottumwa tri-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1903-1916, 1908-10-08
CHAPTER XXIE.

Far away across the grey eastern
sea the first CLEAN Of winters dawn
was tinging the sky with a flush OF
pale rose. The marshland, dreary
enough in the summer sunshine, look
ed cold and CHASTITY in the dim light
of a December morning. The flat
ground was carpeted with mist. not
thick enough to conceal its ugliness,
but sufficiently dense to suggest the
damp rawness of the atmosphere
The creeks, full to the brlm with
water, were leaden in colour, and
looked as if few Ice foes would be
in keeping with their temperature.
The silence OF the night was giving
place to the first whispers OF day. A
few seagulls circled in the air, and
walled out dismal greeting to the
sun A faint breeze Kissed through
the reeds and sedge; and the water IN
the creeks, stirred into tiny waves,
splashed gently CD the banks of mud.
It was not scene TO tempt anyone
from warm bed, or even the cheerful
shelter of good stone walls. Yet John
Shil had been lying. out all night in a
punt, and, after the darkness, even
Of geniality. He had ostensibly
spent his night in the marshes to
shot wild duck, but he had not even
heard the whirr of their wings Yet
he felt that he had not wasted his
time, for he had been unable to sleep,
and the very atmosphere of the house
had seemed to crush all the life out of
him. Who does not remember such
nights as these-nights in which the
air presses down like thick pail of
velvet, nights in which the brain runs
riot and the body cannot rest. They
come, regardless OF season, in sum-
mer or winter; the sitting pressure is
from within and not from the atmo-
sphere without. John Shil, after two
hours of unutterable depression, had
risen and dressed himself; and an
hour later he was lying in his punt in
creek about half mile from the
house, with retriever by his side,
and gun in his hands.
Yet no ducks had come his way that
night, and he might as we'll have left
his gun at home. Pat, the retriever,
however, had been welcome com
panion, for even a sleeping dog is COM
pany.
AS the dawn broke, John Shil threw
off the heavy rug which had covered
his legs, and lighting his pipe, stood
up In the punt and surveyed the
dreary scene which was gradually UNI
folding itself before his eyes
The rose pink of the eastern sky
deepened to crimson, and then the sun
came up from the sea like a ball of
fire, twice its natural size, and, TO
shil's mind, hideously ugly and un.
romantic.
But a winters dawn is not destined
to be clear and sparkling. A heavy
bank of clouds was already descend
Ing to meet the. sun, and before the
red circle was fully visible above the
horizon, the bank seemed to crash
down on it and blot.it out of existence
A look of pain came into Shils eyes
as he saw the crimson light vanish
beneath the cloudbank He wondered
Ii it was an omen of the life which
lay before him.
Then he laughed, and taking up the
heavy pair Of SOULS, he, rowed the
punt vigorously up the creek The ex
ercise put warmth into his chilled
body, and dispended the gloom which
had come over his thoughts.
AS, he neared the edge of the park
the creek narrowed to a mere ditch
and it was impossible to scull any
further. John Shil rose to his feet
and, facing the bow OF the boat, be
gan to use one of the SOULS as pole
Then he looked up and saw the din
figure OF woman crouching close tt
the wall, and scarcely visible agains
the grey background of stone.
The woman under the trees did no
move as John shil moored his pun