The Irish standard., 1910-01-01

Touch His Heart-Two Lovers
Walking Together.
to face the greatest sorrow of his life
alone-absolutely alone. He seemed
to have lost the sense of human kin
ship.
Sometimes sudden sight would
touch his heart-two lovers walking
together. He would follow them as
long as he dared, noting every glance
and gesture between them. It COM
forted him to feel that love was still
In the world-although it had gone
from his own life.
Except for this slight link he was
cut off from his -beings-adrift
on shoreless sea. He did not feel
that others suffered as he was suffer
Ing, that many 9 gallant ship that
passed with colors flying was freight
ed with burdenas heavy as his own.
He chung with pathetic eagerness to
belief that others we're happy and
found life worth living. For, as time
went on, he found the question of the
worth of life forcing itself upon him
| with cruel insistence-not as a specu-
lation, but out OF the bitterness of
life. It met him at every turn. 1t
stood waiting at his bedside to greet
| him when he woke and it followed
close at his side through the day.
Why should he take up the burden of
another day? No one depended on
him-would mourn for him. His
mother?-She was now Independent
of his help. She did not need him.
No one needed him. One plunge and
he would know whether death ends
all. or whether in new life one may
meet or make new happiness.
Gladly would he have died. In hope
less. desperate fashion he prayed for
death. But something-intangible-
still held him from taking his own
life. He did not perceive that there
were depths of misery lower than any
to which he had yet fallen. Had he
foreseen the trackless country over
which he was to wander, he would
have laid down his life in despair at
the outset But the sight was merci-
fully withheld from him. and he
pressed steadily on, unloved and I'M
loving, but hugging close to his heart
one delusive belief-love was still In
the world. Not for him, but for
others, life was still worth the living.
How or when this belief escaped
him he never knew. He awoke one
day to the awful conviction that even
this had been taken from him-that
nothing remained between him and
absolute despair. He had been fool.
How could any love-even as pure as
theirs-how could even this make life
worth living? 1t was at best frail,
uncertain thing, liable to snap at any
moment and leave life empty, DESC
late-like his own. No. life was a
mistake. Derring could fancy 1t the
gift of some arch-flend who lay back,
laughing In his sleeve, as from afar he
watched men rushing here and there,
pushing and scrambling, cheating,
swearing. dying-for what? For a
will-o'the-wisp, mirage, child's
fable.
Thus despair took hold on him. But
the effect was not what one would
have foreseen. 1t drove him towards
his fellow.men. In his first grief he
had been moody and reserved, speak
Ing seldom and then only Of the most
matter-of-fact details Of work. Now
be sought companionship. He courted
conversation. But his conversation
was sharp and cynical in tone. No
subject was too sacred or too tender
for his wit. It was as If the flend
had taken him far above and had
showed him that all Is vanity and
vexation Of spirit-transient, fleeting,
beginning nowhere and ending in
nothing-too trifling to mourn over
and surely not worth enthusiasm.
Every one in the Office felt the
change. Many young fellow who
came under the lash Of his tongue
wondered vaguely what had come
over Derring. But NO one guessed the