The Pulaskian., 1915-02-12

blinded, she struggled on.
 She lost account Of time or distance after the first quarter of the way. The city seemed strange to her, even as if she might never have been in 1t before, and she wondered. in odd per plexity. how she could walk so long.
 Cars. some of them quite empty, passed her; once she had to stop to let one go by, and before it faded ahead, she realized that she had known all the time that it would have taken her to the very door. At last she reached 1t, and she was l surprised when the door opened, for she could not remember having pushed the bell.
 The maid, who had known her since and through her childhood, stepped back from her in surprise. But Miss Dimmis did not attempt to resist her mute inquiry-her soft brown hair was snow-shrouded, her deep eyes, bigger than ever and more pleading, cried out for sympathy, her last shred of stamina was going in trying to hold her slim young form erect Have they brought him back? Is he"
 Unable to finish it, she smiled pa- thetically, the faint smile of a tired, heart-sick and baff1ed child.
 Poor dear!'
 Miss Dimmis did not hear it, nor feel the arm which supported her, al- most bore her, into the big living room, before the fire.
 Miss Travis" said the maid, will see you very soon.
 In the deep silence, broken only by the cracking glow, she looked about her; his room, his chair, pushed back where he had left it, only such few hours ago, to come to her!
 On table at the end were his pa- pers, an envelope addressed in his strong, firm hand She rose and walked weakly to the desk. She had his letters, but she wanted this too, another thing which should freshly re- call to her, through the dead future, his bigness, his strength, the splendid, manly yigor of the man. She raised it to her lips, duly, then turned back.
 In her absorption, she had not heard the step which came down the hall; in- deed, she had turned quite casually, for if she had heard it, she would have looked round with no expectation in her glance.
 Yet, when she turned, her shaken senses shook as from a blow. for he was there before her, had sprung to her and was holding her to him in his arms; holding her, yes, he had even raised her from the floor. My child, my Dimmis, my poor, tired, frightened, shaken de,r-" And then, because it was too much, she tainted quietly away.
 She awoke unwillingly, for what the awakening must bring, and before she could speak, her hands were busy with his hands, his face, his hair.
 What was it? What did 1t mean? Then for she thought that she too was dead, she smiled.
 It was then with no negative force and passion that John Travis spoke, not questioning, for he knew her in his love; but soothing her, in the way he had always longed to, until strength should come back and let her tell her story as she would.
 She told it, told of the paper, the headlines, the story of the wreck, of his name there in the list of those found dead, told of her daring then to come to him te tell all that, in his life, she had fought back for the sake of the career, told even of the letter which had come just before he came.
 As he listened, Travis passed through it with her, with face which broke with love and glowed with fire.
 q thought you were dead" said Dimmis. And I came to tell you" and her face went back on his wide shoulder, as she fnished-"of my love-"
 It was very short, his story. An ac- cidental exchange of overcoats with another at the hotel, and his taking later train, after a vain effort to find the other man.
 "So it was not you," she said, for, on his strength, she had let hers go utterly.
 "No," said John Travis, mo, dear est, for have just begun to live!"