Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-03-13

CHAPTER XVIII.
| With Mary at Moorwin
| IT'S terrible Maurice! If only could have
| line even wire, from her or her father. just
to say she was alive, shouldn't mind so much.
"She may have written and the letter got
lost in transit" suggested.
Then why didn't she write again or wire!
persisted Mary. And there are her clothes!
Why. she hadn't even a second gown with her.
| l believe she's dead, Maurice. | do indeed
| She began to cry softly-poor, dear little wo-
man and did not know what to say to COM
fort her. l dared not give her the slightest hint
as to what had befallen Anne. or of my own
| agony of mind concerning her: for that would
only have added to her distress. And knew
now why it was imperative that she should be
spared any extra worry. and, if possible, be
treasured about her friend.
"Nonsensel" l exclaimed. You'd have
heard soon enough if anything had happened
fathers wealthy man, and, when she found
| the things didn't arrive she'd just buy more.
| Depend upon it, her father went to meet
| her when he left the hotel at Berlin, and
they're jaunting off on their travels together
all right"
II don't believe it, she cried stormily.
Anne would have written to again and
again, rather than let me endure this suspense.
| And if one letter went astray, it's impossible
| that they all should. But you'll can't under
stand YOU Maurice. You're as unsympathetic
| as Jim. and yeti thought was sure-you
loved her."
| This was almost more than could stand.
| God knows do love her!" said as steadily
as could. She will always be the one woman
! in the world for me, Mary, even if never see
or hear of her again. But I'd not going to en-
courage you in all this futile worry. nor is Jim.
He's not unsympathetic, really: but he knows
Anne's your friend. and you love her dearly:
| but remember you're Jim's wife and more
precious to him than all the world"
| She flushed holly at that. saw it, though
| was careful not to look directly at her. Yes,
| IL know that" she said almost in whisper.
And I'll try not to worry. for his-for all our
sakes. You're right, you dear. old kind boy;
| but
I'VE can do nothing" went on. Even if
she is i'll or in danger. can do nothing till we
have news of her. But she IS IN Gods hands, as
| we all are, little woman
Il do pray for her, Maurice she avowed
piteously 'But-but-"
That's all you do, dear. but it is much
also. More things are wr light by prayer than
this world dreams of. Keep on praying and
trusting, and tie prayers will be answered"
She looked at me through her tears, lovingly,
but with some establishment. Why, Maurice,
| | never heard you talk like that before"
IL couldn't have said it to anyone but YOU,
dear" said gruff1y, and we were silent for
SPELL But she understood me. for we both
| come from the same sturdy old Puritan stock.
We were both born and reared IN the falth OF
our fathers. and in this period of doubt and
danger and suffering it was strange how the old
teaching came back to me, the firm fixed belief
in God, Our refuge and strength. a very pres
ent help in trouble" That faith had led our
fathers to the New World three centuries ago,
had sustained them from one generation to an
other in the face of difficulties and dangers in
calculable had made of them great nation,
and knew it now for my most precious herr
tage:
Il had tainted unless had believed to see
| the goodness of the Lord in the land of the liv-
ing.
"Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and
| he shall strengthen thine heart.
Through God we will do valiantly: for it is
He that shall tread down enemies"
| Half forgotten for SO many years, but familiar
enough in my boyhood, when my father read
| a psalm aloud every morning before breakfast,
and his wrath fell on any member of the house
| hold who was absent from the reading,-the
old words required to me with new significance
| in the long hours when lay brooding the
mystery and peril that encompassed the girl
loved. They brought strength and assurance
to my SOUL they saved me from madness
during that long period of forced inaction that
| followed my collapse at the police court.
MARY, and Jim too, everyone about me in
~ fact, despaired Of my life for many days,
| and, now that l was again convalescent and
| they brought me down to the Cornish cottage,
bat