The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1908-09-10

Slowly, and more or less YEARLY, he
sauntered along-up on one side Of
the street and down the other. He
spoke to no one, recognized no one;
been out on the moors or cliffs Of his
native county, and when the daylight
faded, and the streets became a little
less crowded, he turned his face west
ward and sought the shelter of his
humble lodgings.
He had been a month in London,
and every Saturday afternoon and ev'
cry Sunday he had spent In the same
task, but without success; and it
seemed to him as though he might go
on searching In that vast labyrinth Of
crowded streets until his head was
gray and never catch a glimpse of the
face he wanted to see.
One pair of eyes was r~idiculously
inadequate for the task he had set
himself. He might have passed her
again and again for all he knew.
While he was looking across the
street she might be almost brushing
his sleeve. While he fingered at q
crossing she might pass behind him.
It was tantalizing to be so com
pletely at the mercy Of chance. If be
had q clue of any kind his task would
seem less hopeless. He was not even
sure that she was in London. She
might have left it again weeks ago., or
she might be i'll, or have given mp
the struggle In despair.
He tried to worry as little as posi-
ble-tried to take a hopeful view Of
the situation. But in spite of every.
thing he endured many hours of acute
mental suffering.
When he got back from his wander
ings on the day in question, he sat
down dejectedly before his frugal fire
and gave himself UP % the most
gloomy reflections. London seemed a
big, heartIess, merciless place. What
chance had a young and friendless
girl in such a seething cauldron of
humanity? For a young man without
IL CLuo " GIG - w DS buh5
adrift in such a place would be to ex.
pose him to awful peril and to proba.
BILE disaster. But for a mere girl TO be
so placed was enough to make the
most careless shudder.
What had become of her? 1t was
a question he was always asking him
self, but the days passed away and he
got no answer. He still hoped for the
best, still reflected on her courage,
her energy, her brightness, her re-
source, and yet there were times when
it seemed to him impossible that they
would ever meet again.
Never once, however, did he enter.
tain the idea of turning back to the
old life of idleness and self-indulgence.
Hard as it was to submit to discipline
and put in so many hours of work
each day, he felt that it was infinitely
better than dawdling about from
morning till night with nothing to do.
He might have miserable hours of
loneliness and %foreboding in London,
but he would be mor miserable eat
ing his heart out at Mawgan Chase.
At least he was doing SOMETHING. He
was no longer dependent on his moth
er for every penny he spent, was no
longer depriving his sister of the small
~luxuries she had never been able to
get; and the ems of Independence
of manhood-stirred his heart with
emotions he had never known before.
On Sundays he ran after the most
popular preachers, and always with
the same end in view. He tried to
salve his conscience with the reflec-
ton that his motive was as lofty as
that of most other people. They went
to be entertained; to have their ears
tickled with pleasant sounds. He
went I o seek-and it might be to save
the woman he loved. He did not
pretend to be greatly interested in
some of the services he attended. Not
a few sermons made no impression on
him whatever. In some cases he
made but a half-hearted attempt to
listen. He generally went early, so
that he might get a sea- that would
command a good view of the congrega-
ton. II he failed to see the face of
the preacher hat did not trouble him.
ITO BE Continued,o