The Daily Ardmoreite. [volume] (Ardmore, Okla.) 1893-current, 1910-07-06

/ promised not only TO come again
nut to recommend her house to
/ their friends. His advent therefore
/ was quite Welcome to her, and as
he had no tastes that were difficult
to satisfy she hoped he would stay
a long time.
Mrs. Sleeman was a cheerful old
lady who managed her house and
her husband with great tact. 1t was
also said that her influence was
very great at the little Bible Chris
tian chapel to which she went on
Sundays. John Sleeman, her hus
band, was but little in evidence
lie worked on his little farm patch
through the day, and in the even
ings spent his time in the little
kitchen, which to Leicester was d
sealed chamber.
No newspaper was brought into
the cottage. and letters came rarely
Indeed. the postman never came al
ali. BY mutual agreement 1t was
arranged that when a letter came
for Mr.. Slecman, it should be left
al the house of Mrs. Maddern, who
lived close to the high road. Occa'
sionally Mr. and Mrs. Sleeman har'
messed their little horse and drove
to the market town. which lay sew.
eral miles across the moors, but
this was only ON very rare occa-
sions.
As a consequence, therefore, Lei
cester's life was completely isolat'
ed. Day after day passed without
any event happening to break the
monotony of life, and he spent his
time roaming over the moors trying
as best he could to face the problem
of his life, and to fight the despair
which was gnawlng at his heart.
lie knew nothing of what was
happening in the country, and he
asked no questions. He was sick
OF the world. and sick of life. The
great question was, what should
he do? Should he commit suicide
and thus put an end to an existence
which to him had no meaning or
purpose, or should he 20 some
where and begin anew? His nature,
in spite of his beliefs, rebelled
against the former He could not
bring himself, little as he cared for
life. to destroy it by his own hand.
As for the latter alternative, the
old question reiterated itself, where
should he go. what should he do?
I He loathei the thought of going
back to London, to live the life or
a useless parasite amidst clubs and
club loungers. The political door
was closed against him, and even
if it were not he felt he could
not enter it now He had an in
come sufficient for all his needs,
and as a consequence had no need
to work for his living. 1t would
have been better for him If he had.
Humanely speaking, there are few
better moral tonics than work.
Looming larger than all other
questions was this: Had he forever
lost Olive Castlemaine? Had he
won her only to lose her? But for
the determination which in spite of
his despair lay at the back OF his
mind. | imagine he would have put
an end to an existence which at
times became almost unbearable.
He was pondering all these things
for the hundredth time one day as
he was walking across the moors
alone. The clouds hung heavily iu
the sky. while occasionally gusts of
cold wind, accompanied by driving
rain, reminded him that winter
had not yet come to an end. AS he
walked ard thought, a storm had
gathered, and he saw that the sky
threatened a downpour of rain.
What do care?" he laughed
bitterly Il feel like old King Lear
Nothing is wanting but Tom Fool
to make the picture complete, Blow
blow, thou winter wind.
The rain fell in torrents, and in
spite of his wild mood, he made
his way to lonely farm house IN
order to find shelter. BY the time
he reached it, his clothes were soak
ed with rain.
He stood in a cart shed. and
watched the flood as it fell. The few
trees that grew around the farm.
stead looked drear and forbidding;
away in the distance the hills
seemed TO smoke.
And this is life" he laughed
we are born. we suffer, we make
fools Of O,lrSelvaS and wa dia