The Mena weekly star., 1916-09-07
CHAPTER xxiv.
The Oasis.

The Oasis.
 He had said good-by. He stood now at the door and looked at her with the sad reluctance of man who is about to turn his back forever on a we'll loved picture.
 T shall not trouble you again, Cab rielle," he said gently. "Our ways lie in different worlds. 1 have not de served much comfort of you. spoiled my own life and did my best to spoil yours. There is only one consolation that I can take with me-the knowl- edge that failed"
 "Yes-you failed" She sat by the rickety hotel writing table. her chin resting on her hand, her eyes fixed ab- sently on the haLf-hnished letter before her. You are not to worry about that, Stephen. Lives are not so easily ruined"
 "I should like to think that you could forget me-that the shadow had passed away and left no trace. should like to know you-happy."
 ''I am happy"
 Still he waited, watching her with hungry wistful intentness.
 You will go back to England"
 'Yes. l think so."
 "Farquhar is worthy of you. You will begin a new life. If I could would pray for your happiness to- gether.
 ''I thank you, Stephen"
 She heard the door close softly. He had gone. She felt as though with his passing the curtain had dropped upon the first great act of her life. And now a new act was to begin-a lonelier one. He had taken with him his own dream of it; she knew that he would cling to her phantom happiness as to last comfort, and she had had no heart to tear it from him. All happi- ness is mirage. But to the dreamer the dream Is reality. He would sleep in peace. She went on writing. It was very quiet h the little room. The drowsy hush of midday seemed to creep in through the half-open shutters on rays of sunshine which shifted slowly till they rested on the sheet of closely-written paper. She covered her face with her hands as though dazzled. Tn the peaceful silence there was sound like smothered cry Of pain.
 The door leading into the inner room opened and closed. She lifted her head and went on writing. Her hand shook, but when Farquhar stood beside her she looked up, and her face was white and fearless.
 "It is nearly finished" he said al- most beneath his breath. "She Is try ing to ask for you"
 q viii come at once"
 Wait one moment. I wanted to leave them alone together for little. You understand"
 "Yes, of course"
 Both were silent. She studied him wistfully Without the ragged beard and in these clothes he seemed once more the man as she had known him in the London days--the reckless, head strong soldier, without restraint, with out fear. Only as she looked closer she saw the grave ennobling lines which men gather on the road through suffering. Suddenly he lifted his eyes to hers. They puzzled, almost fright ened her In their dogmatic composure.
 My father goes south tonight with the troops,' he said. He will suppress the risings and make treaties, and the work on his great road will be finished. That Is his own wish. We have spoken together and I have understood, as know you will We have each to work out our own salvation In our own way. Gut there in the desert he may find peace"
 And your"
 My pardon and release were con frred an hour ago. It was his own request, and they could not refuse. In a few weeks I shall go back to Eng land. My father has given me the rough memoranda of his plans. shall work them out in detail-if possible to perfection. They will be offered in due course to the government I hope that even now 1 may serve my coun- try"
 q know you will" The old fire flashed into her voice. but she did not look at him She felt the piercing eyes on her face; they seemed to reach the innermost thought in her They slIenced an empty phrase that she was forcing to her lips.
 Perhaps l am disturbing you" be said abruptly You are writing let ters2"
 Yes.
 ITO whomT'
 She looked ID with touch of fierce defiance.
 Have you right to asg?"
 q don't know--I am afraid"