Baraboo weekly news. [volume] (Baraboo, Wis.) 1912-197?, 1913-04-10

| communication to me.
VERY likely. 1t is not wholly i'm
possible for the best of us to be in
difficulties" he said, with nervous
twitching at the corners of his
mouth; "but that wouldn't have kept
them away from the funeral. Why,
dash it, sir, the young one would
have walked here, and the old
one"
1.-THE old one?" repeated, inter-
negatively.
Would have come on her
hands and knees II there had been
no other way of getting to Brey-
mouth. No, l can't make it out at
ALL"
"Have you written to any one
about them?"
'"To every one In London who
knows them, pom my honor
I'VE must leave it to time, then"
"Exactlv ] leave everything to
time myself" was the answer ana
1 fancy that's the best way. 1t saves
heap of trouble"
Eyes, I suppose So"
'I'm leaving my business affairs
to time" he added, dryly; mot but
that business is looking up wonder
fully for this time of year. Whether
it's the town sympathy with Nash, or
the funeral was a bit of an adver-
tisement, or whether I'm on my met
tie and acting more powerfully (now
that I have the weight of it all on my
shoulders), | don't know; but we're
not doing altogether badly
''I'm glad to hear it,
Time, you see, then-and taking
things coolly-and there you are"
''Ah, yes, there you are!"
Had I been blessed with the philo-
sophical bent of mind which distin-
guished the manager of Breymouth
Theater, | should not have suffered a
small relapse in health soon after
this conversation.
The funeral over, the bill paid, the
paper war at an end, the anxiety as
to the whereabouts of the Misses
Nash less of a novelty, and then for a
week, or perhaps fortnight, l went
back to something of the old dismal
feelings and grim fancies which had
been born of oVerwork, and alarmed
the few who cared for me-which
had brought me to the sea at the end
of the winter months, a gentleman
at ease. I went back to my old,
strange depressiOns, to nervous
fear of my future, followed in half
an hours time by disregard, total
and complete, of anything that the
future might have in store for me
TO days of restlessness wherein 1t
was a misery to sit still, to days Of
utter torpidity when it was mental
torture to move out of the deep arm
chair wherein [ sat shivering and
watching the fiaring of the Goals In
the old-fashioned CRATE before me. I
did not tell any one In London of this
slight relapse, this warning to be
carefully still. | initiated Fairfax's
style Of epistolary correspondence; |
talked of coming back to Newington
Butts very shortly, when l felt like
prisoner chained to the walls of
cell, a powerless nonentity; but I
thought that | should get better by
degrees If | were left to myself. l
was getting better, was sure, some
ten days after the funeral of Noah
Nash. | was taking my morning con-
stitutional on the Esplanade again. |
was making for the hills once more,
although easily tired In my ascent Of
them. l was strollfng along the deep
woc Coi1inor aorncC tbQ
sea with a trusty fisherman. In the
afternoon, after my early dinner, |
felt extra exhausted, perhaps. | could
drop off to sleep like a tired child,
and only wake up when Mrs Higgin-
son plunged in with her tray of tea
things three hours afterward. But
yes, l was getting better I was
shaking off all my nonsense, as
George Fairfax would have impolite-
ly put it, when the thread of this
story was taken up again.
1t was a dull afternoon, and 1 had
fallen into one of those deep sleeps
which I have just mentioned. | woke
up conscious that there were visitors
in my room, who had entered I'M.
duuOunCStl Vi WuOSC
of their presence had fallen upon deaf
ears. l had slept through their intro
duction to the first floor; and it was
only their voices commenting upon
my slumbers which had brought me
to less comatose condition. l was
awake, but l did not open my eyes at
once. | was not quite certain wheth-
er this was dreamland or not.
'No, pray don't wake him, please"
said one of the most musical voices I
had ever heard in my life. mot on
my account. l will call again-iE
half an hour or 500
He's always like that now-just
clean tired out, ma'am."
"He looks very ILL.,
"Yes-like a ghost, isn't he?"
said Mrs. Higginson; land that
sound off, too-like a cold corpus. I
don't think it's a good sign, for"
I'VE must not talk here said the
voice, more sharply. Tell Mr.. Lis