The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1911-01-04

do not seem to notice that l am dis
fgured!"
She made no pretense of misunder'
standing. believe me-" she said
gently, "it is no Disagreement. But
understand. My father lived all his
life in the dread of blindness"
A faint sound came from him. She
was aware, without lifting her eyes
to his, that he was staring at her
strangely.
"All his life. Then your father is
not living!
"He died before l was born"
She glanced at him as she spoke,
for his tone had been muffled and in
distinct. There was a deep furrow
in his forehead which she had not
seen before.
"Do you look like him."
"No, he was dark. l am like my
mother"
Thorn was looking away from her,
toward the lane, where, beyond the
hedge, man was passing, half sing
ing, half chanting to himself in a re-
presses, sepulcharal voice.
"My mother died, too, when l was
little girl" she added, $50 I know
really very little about him."
She was looking out across the wide
space where the roofs sank out OF
sight-to the foliaged slope of Aoya
ma. Suddenly thrill, curiously
complies motion, ran over her. Above
those far tree-tops, sailing in slow,
sweeping, concentric circles, she saw
great machine, like gigantic vul-
ture. She knew instantly what it was
and there flashed before her memory
and there flashed before her the mem
DRY of day at Fort Logan when
brave young lieutenant had crashed
to death before her eyes in shat
tered aeroplane.
If Daunt was to fall what
would it mean to her! In that instant
the garden about her, Thorn, the blue
sky above, faded, and she stared dis
mayed into a gulf in whose shadows
lurked the disastrous, the terrifying,
the irreparable. 81 love him! | love
him!"-it seemed to peal like tenn
pie bell through her brain. Even to
herself she could not deny it again!
She became aware of music near
at hand. 1t brought her back to the
present, for it was the sound of the
organ in the new Chapel across the
way.
Looking up, she was struck by the
expression on Thorn's face. He
seemed, listening, to be held captive
by some dire recollection. 1t brought
to her mind that bitter cry:
81 can not but remember such things
were,
That were most precious to mel"
She rose with a sudden swelling of
the throat.
81 must go now" she said. THE
Chapel is to be dedicated this morn
ing. The organ is playing for the
service now"
She led the way along the stepping
stones to the bamboo gate. AS they
approached, through the interstices Of
the farther hedge she could see the
figure of the Ambassador, with Mrs.
cambridge, among the kimono enter
ing the chapel door. In the temple
across the yard the baton had begun
its tapping and the dulled, monoton-
Gus tom-tom mingled weirdly with the
soaring harmonies of the organ.
With her hand on the paling she
spoke again:
"One thing didn't tell you. 1t was
| who built the Chapel. 1t is in the
memory of my father. See, there is
the memorial window. They were
putting it in place when | came little
while ago."
She was not looking at Thorn, or
she would have seen his face over
spread with whiteness like that Of
death. He stood as if frozen to mar
BILE. The morning sun on the Chapel's
eastern side striking through its open
easements, tightening the iridescent
rose window with a tender radiance,
gliding the dull yellow aureole about
the head of the Master and giving
life and glow to the face beside Him
dark, beardless, and passionately
tender-at which Thorn was staring,
with what seemed almost an agony
of inquiry.
"St. John" she said softly, 1.-The
disciple whom Jesus lcved.' She
drew from the bosom of her dress
the lOcket she always wore and
If '.'Tbn fnra uac ta1