Montpelier examiner. [volume] (Montpelier, Idaho) 1895-1937, 1910-05-27
CHAPTER XVIII.

IN the once, Dut 0therWlSe no differ
emit from other days.
When Derring came home at night
he threw himself on the bed to rest
before dressing for dinner. It had
become a common thing for him to
stop to rest now and then during the
day-how common, even he himself
did not realize. lie was less intro
spcctiye than formerly He worked
instead of specializing or dreaming.
When he found himself too tired to
work he rested for a little, as he
was doing now.
1t had taken him long to learn the
art of resting. But he had at last
gained the power to turn aside at any
moment from the rush of life and
yield himself body and mind, to a
quiet restfulness.
As he lay in the half-darkened room.
his eyes closed. his breath coming
and going lightly between parted lips,
it was easy to see that the past ten
years had not all been as peaceful as
this. The thick hair, pushed careless
ly back, was streaked with gray. The
exuberant vitality Of the face and
frame had given place to a worn look
OF passive strength. Ten years should
not so change a face were it not that
ten years, as men count time, are
sometimes a cycle
Derring was not thinking of the
past, however, nor of himself He
was resting, gaining strength for the
work hat Ia hpf Ia
At last he rose end began to move
about the room, making ready for din
ner Suddenly he stopped, bewildered,
putting his hand to his head. What
had happened? A change too subtle
to be put in words had come over him
while he rested. He looked az his
face in the mirror, half expecting to
see some sign. 1t was not there. Bat
deep in his heart he felt it thro5bing
thrilling. Life was, after all, worth
living! Nay, more, it was a wonder
full, beautiful thing. The feeling did
not take words. 1t was too pervasive,
too complete, for that. No mere
thought could have carried such
weight of conviction. 1t was too sim
g. ~
carried belief He had reasoned care
fully and logically to the opposite
conclusion How was it?-Life could
not be worth living Since there is
no permanent happiness, existence
| has no reason for being rather than
| for not being. and no certainty of an
outcome that shall justify suffering.
He smiled at his careful logic, swept
away by the force of pure conviction
Life was worth living!
It lay before him simple as day.
| light, and as clear. His mind ran
ahead. He must find the work he
could do we'll, and do it. Herein lay
happiness. Then let him help others
to find their place. He would have
joy of heart and the purpose that
makes life reasonable. It mattered
little about the immortality of the
soul Three-score years and ten was
Immortality. The structure of the
universe betrayed master plan. TIC
live In unison with this plan, to aid
in its exeeution-if only for few
years-Was enough.
He turned to the window and, draw
Ing up the shade, looked across the
broken lines CT chimney-pots and roofs
TO the western sky. His heart leape(
to meet it. Beauty had come back tt
the earth. He stood drinking 1t il
with the eagerness of a traveller whit
sees home at last He had not known
| how his artist nature had hungeret
, for it through the years The tear!
came into his eyes as he looked 4
tangle of chimneys and gables agains
a twilight sky, but full of subtle beau
ty Would it stay with him?-Wher'
had it been? There in the QUITE
Wor1d-but hidden from him becaus,
he was unworthy? Or in his own sou
languishing with its sickness? Thel
in a moment it came TO hint wa
not in the world, nor in his soul. |
was the soul itself coming to con
seiousness, recognizing itself. behold
ing its own features. as in a glass
, existence reaching its highest form il
the consciousness of the soul. II
stood awed before it. It seemed t