The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1910-06-09

"She was not strong enough to d.
rect it. But she told me your name
just before she died at daybreak. She
said you would be sure to come, and
l must give 1t to you"
That he would be sure to come.
Yes, she had known. He turned alb
ruptly to the window and looked out
cross the fat, monotonous country.
He could not trust himself to open
1t yet. He held it In his hand. "She
was not able to direct it," The first
tears filed his eyes.
When at last he undid the parcel
Seth's ring flashed in the sunlight.
Underneath 1t was a small folded slip
of paper. His fingers trembled a lit
tie as they smoothed the crumpled
lines: "Loved-O ne,-be brave. |
would gladly have lived for you. But
1t was not to be. / shall come back
to you If | can. But If not" The
last words struggled down the page
and were lost.
"But if not" Derring crushed the
paper in his hand and turned to leave
the house.
Don't you want to see her, sir?"
He looked at the woman blankly,
stupidity. Without a word he turned
towards the door she indicated. It
closed behind him and they were
alone together once more. He had not
thought her face would be so peace
ful-nor so far away. He could not
understand how she could seem so
far away. She was here, close beside
him. He could touch her. He put
out his hand and softly stroked her
cheek. He did not bend to kiss the
quiet face. She was too far away for
kisses. "She would come back to him
If she could-But if not" Good God!
How was he to bear it? ? He turned
swiftly away. He could not stand
there-near HEREWITH that hooking,
unreasonable distance between them.
He went straight from the house to
the Office of the superintendent and
offered his services in caring for the
injured. A surgeon was about to
start on his rounds. Derring had been
detailed to help him. The first pa
tient was a young man about his own
age. The leg was to be amputated
just above the knee. Derring held his
hand while the operation was prepar-
ing, speaking to him now and then
and wiping the perspiration from his
forehead. When all was done and the
white sheet was being drawn smooth
ly in place once more, he struggled to
consciousness, reaching out his hand
for Derring and begging him not to
leave him.
But the surgeon interposed prompt
ly. mo, | cant spare him. He Is too
valuable. You would have had a
tougher time if he had not been here.
He shall come back to you by-and-by.
Drink this and go to sleep"
So Richard spent the day in the
midst of suffering. Everywhere the
magnetism of his touch soothed rest
lessness, and his personality put cour-
age into faint hearts. No one guessed
that he was carrying a hurt deeper
any he looked on or that his
heart was wrung by keener suffering
than any that he soothed.
Twice during the day he stole into
the room where she lay, and, standing
by her side, tried to span the infinite
distance between them by the inspira-
ton of love. But it was hopeless.
Always he saw before his eyes a high,
cold wall of darkness and at it's foot
a crouching figure with fingers creep
ing here and there to find some open
ing or %crevice, and. failing in this.
beating itself till the blood trickled
down. He knew that it was only his
diseased imagination. But always the
figure was there, and close at hand
was the quiet face with it's TRANQUIL
smile-so far away and Indifferent to
pain.
AT night her brother came-a frank,
manly young fellow, with her eyes.
Derring explained his presence brief.
ly. Il loved your sister. She never
promised to marry me. But she knew
l loved her"
"She wrote about you, She said
He stopped abruptly. Their hands
met in the grasp of sympathy, and
then Derring left the house for the
last time. He did not go again to the
quiet room. She was not there. She
was nearer his own heart than that.
An hour later he watched-until it
was out of sight-the train that bore
her away. He turned his face once
more towards Chicago.