The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1910-06-16
CHAPTER Xvli-Continued

. Gladly would he have died. In hope
less, desperate fashion he prayed for
death. But OBSERVATION-DISCLOSURES
still held him from taking his own
life. He did not perceive that there
we're depths of misery lower than any
to which he had yet fallen. Had he
foreseen the ~trackless country owe
which he was to wander, he would
have laid down his life in despair at
the outset. But the sight vas merci-
fully withheld from him, and he
pressed steadily on, unloved and IN
loving, but hugging close to his heart
one delusive belief-love was still in
che world. Not for him, but for
sthers, 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 a fool.
How could any love-even as pure as
theirs-how could even this make life
worth living? 1t was at best a 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 it the
gift of some arch-iend 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
I'LL - tLA xxytan a rnirQun nhilAfo
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
he sought companionship. He courted
conversation. But his conversation
was sharp and cynical In tone. Nc
subject vas too sacred or too tender
for his wit. 1t was as II the fiend
had taken him far above and had
showed him that all is vanity and
vexation of spirit-transient, fieeting
beginning nowhere and ending IL
uOtuiNS-lOO tIluiu6 W Aicuth Ofcl
and surely not worth enthusiasm.
Every one In the office felt the
change. Many a young fellow wht
came under the lash of his tongue
wondered vaguely what had com
over Derring. But no one guessed the
cause. For although he seemed 81
open and blum, he was more reserved
than ever.
Thus two, three-six years passed
Then a change came owe him. Thu
bitterness passed from his heart ant
left only a great pity for mankind
1t was a cruel thing to create a rae
capable of suffering and condemn l
to a life of fruitless striving! TIL
hopelessness and the misery haunte'
him-day and night. He became yer,
gentle. Even towards sin and vice h
showed a leniency that surprised hi
feliow-workers. His own grief had be
come to him a very small thing-hard
ly worth a heart-throb in comparison
with the curse under which the hu
man race struggled. He would gladl,
have died to bring a ray of light L
men. He began to understand, dimly
that the sins of the world may be lai,
on one man. But with the under
standing came a conviction of tn
hopelessness. Every true man mus
suffer. must stoop to take the burdel
on his shoulders-some to bear l
even to a cruel death-but neve
must one dare hope thai because n
suffered another should b. free.
For himself. as the yer,s went by
ne questioned no more. Life and II
meaning had reduced itself to this
to help those that are In trouble-thi
much he had gathered fsalu %
wreck. He knew that 1t 'yas only
fragment, a negative sort of comfort
But Il was better tdaa ne ban
apathy of Indifference. 1t was some
thing to live for.