Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1915-09-10

His Eyes Fell on the Postmark.
ed to press himself close to the great,
gray shoulders of rock that broke
through the greenery like giants tear
ing off soft raiment. Those were his
people back there. He should be run
ming with the wolf pack, not coursing
with beagles.
He had been telling himself that he
was loyal and now he realized that he
was drifting like the lotus eaters.
He rose and paced the floor, with
teeth and hands clenched and the
sweat standing out OF his forehead.
His advisers had of late been urging
him to go to Paris. He had refused,
and his unconfessed reason had been
that in Paris he could not answer a
sudden call. He would go back to
them now and compel them to admit
his leadership.
Then his eyes fell on the unfinished
portrait of Adrienne. The face gaZed
at him with its grave sweetness; its
fragrant subtlety and its fine-grained
delicacy. Her pictured lips we're ST.
lently arguing for the life he had
found among strangers, and her vic
for the fact that just now his con
science seemed to be on the other
side. Samson's civilization was two
years old-a thin veneer over a cen
fury of feudalism-and now the cen
fury was laundering its call of blood
bondage. But, as the man struggled
over the dilemma, the pendulum
swung back. The hundred years had
left, also. a heritage of quickness and
bitterness to resent injury and injus-
tice. His own people had cast him
out. They had branded him as the
deserter; they felt no need of him or
his counsel. Very well, let them have
1t so. His problem had been settled
for him. His Gordian knot was cut.
Sally and his uncle alone had his
address. This letter. casting him out.
must have been authorized by them,
Brother Spencer acting merely as
amanuensis. They. too, Lad repudi-
ated him-and, If that were true, ex-
cept for the graves of his parents, the
hills had no tie to hold him.
Sally, Sally!" he groaned, dropping
his face on his crossed arms, while
his shoulders heaved in an agony of
heartbreak, and his words came In the
old. crude syllables: II lowed you'd
believe in me eff hell froze!" He rose
after that. and made a fierce gesture
with his clenched fists. "All right"
he said, bitterly. I'm shet of the lot
of ye. I'm done!"
But it was easier to say the words
of reputation than to cut the ties
that were knotted about his heart.
With a ranking soul, the mountain
eer left New York. He wrote Sally a
brief note. telling her that he was 60
ing to cross the ocean, but his hurt
pride forbade his pleading for her CON
fidence. OF adding, 81 love you" He
plunged into the art life of the "other
side of the Seine," and worked vora-
ciously. He was trying to learn
much-and to forget much.
One sunny afternoon when Samson
had been in the Quarter Latin for
eight or nine months the concierge of
his lodgings handed him, as he passed
through. the cour, an envelope adj
dressed in the hand of Adrienne lies
colt. AS he read it he felt a glow Of
p~leasurable surprise, and. wheeling, he
retraced his steps briskly to his lodg-
ings, where he began to pack. Adri-
enne had written that she and her
mother and Wilfred Horton were sail
ing for Naples, and commanded him.
unless he were too busy, to meet their
steamer. Within two hours he was
bound for Lucerne to cross the Italian
frontier by the slate-blue waters of
Lake Maggiore.
A few weeks later Samson and Ad.
rienne were standing together by
moonlight in the ruins of the Coli.
scum. The junketing about Italy had
been charming. and now in that circle
of sepia softness and broken columns
he looked at her and suddenly asked
himself:
Just what does she mean to your"
If he had asked himself that
question before he knew now that II
must some day be answered. Friend.
ship had been a good and seemingly
a sufficient definition. Now he was NOT
SO sure that it could remain 80.
Then his thoughts went back to q
cabin In the hills and a girl in calico.