Middletown transcript., 1917-10-13

darkest hour Of the night that pre-
cedes the dawn.
For the first time since his injury
Wards mind was quite clear. He had
not been able to sleep, and the nurse
had been reading to him. Strange read
ing, too, for the assistant rector of
Saint Jude's. The books old Hilary
had kept on his bedside still lay there.
Even the nurse, accustomed to
many books for many men, was gently
outraged.
Ward lay in his bed, his eyes half.
closed. listening intently. At last the
nurse put down the book.
"Why, it's frightful. it's outrageous,
It's blasphemous! Do you really think
I should read you any more of them!'
Ward smiled feebly.
"If you are afraid Of the effect on
YOU"
'Not at ALL" said the nurse almost
sharply, and picked up the book again.
Ward lay back on his pillows and
listened to the age-old arguments.
So it was on such literature as this
that Elinor had been reared! How
fair a plant to have grown thus in the
dark! And as the nurse droneG on,
Ward came to realize how natural and
how inevitable had been her develop
ment. Reared in such soil, what might
he himself not have become; and
more than that, would he have been
one-half so sweet, so tender, so-good7
Toward dawn the nurse slept in her
chair. Her cap had fallen little
crooked, and the beautifying hand OF
sleep had touched away the small fur
rows between her eyes. Plain she was,
but kindly and full of gentleness. Ward,
, lying awake, watched her. She was no
: longer very young He thought Of the
children who should have clung to her
broad. fiat bosom and felt the touch Of
her tender hand.
? Then, because, curiously enough,
t everything Of gentlcness and tender
t ness .remintled him Of ElinOr, his
thoughts swung round to her. He
: closed his eyes, and dreamed the
dream that had been with him, SUBJ
, consciously, all the night. To take her
t in his arms. and by teaching her love-
e teach her infinite love; by showing
3 mercy and forgiveness and great ten
y Gerness, to lead her by these. His at
p tribute, to the Christ-thiS was his
dream.
q And because 1t brought hope and
:. healing and great peace, after a time
: he slept. Elinor, standing alone in the
s house outside his door, took courage
d from his even breathing and ventured
: in. So light was his sleep that she
l. dared not touch him. She knelt very
n quietly by the bed. and kissed the cor
d ner of his pillow.
Ward spent his Sabbatical year In
l. Oxford. He had thought to find peace
S by exchanging one form Of activity fol
G another, but with the less arduous du
n ties Of his work there he had more
d time to think. He found the old pair
l. even greater; his restlessness grew or
him. In, the three years since Elinor':
y flight he had done many things. Ht
!. had left Nottingham for New York
e and could feel his usefulness nov
i, only bounded by his strength.
But the old zest Of life was gone. H'
b was restless, heavier of spirit. There
L had been times when he had though
n that he was forgetting, only to dis
% cover, through a stray resemblance
e while his heart pounded and his bloot
e. raced, that his forgetting was only tn
l. numbness of suffering.
y Once, on the Strand in London, h
c. came face to face with Bcroday. Ware
J. would never forget that meeting, 1t
-e, quick hope which died into the OIL
ache at Boroday's words.
J. 81 have not seen her." he said. F"
r am always looking. Perhaps she /
'e wise, to break with us all. Still, W
loved her. / have never married, an
n, she was like my own child"
,e He had taken clerkship in Lon
don. he said. While, of course, he di
ot not say so, Ward read between hi
m words that he was done with the oil
y life for good. He held out his han
a and the Russian took it.
IL "If hear anything" Boroday sait
''Ill let you know. Once or twice sh
Or wrote me; from Liverpool once, afte
she landed, and again from here. The
the police closed up the Dago's place
which was the only way she knew t
IL reach me. I've never heard since"
MT "Then you think she may be in Eng
lie yUord oc1yod popprlv
r. The Russian shrugged his shoulder
ne perhaps, if she Is living. She wa
''e not strong. Sometimes wonder"
;. So, after all, Ward took an extr
H. pang away with him from the chanc
= meeting. What if, after all. his watcl
- ing and waiting meant nothing?
~ she were gone, beyond earthly fin(
W. ing? Death for him might be begi1
ming only, door to eternity, but a
'"o the philosophy and hope Of his fait
49,, did not fill his empty human arm
D,e That night he walked the Londo
elu streets until dawn.
luz He came back from Oxford at ii
end Of his course there. Home W,
IKE calling, and work, blessed work, tn,
'ly brings forgetfulness.
On the last Sunday before he sail,
he attended service in Saint PauIs. F
,ge knew the church well. In those earli
will days when philosophy had taken h
yer young brain by storm and his fai
,ne had rocked, he had gone to Sal
d Paul's. Something in the very solidi
uld of the old church. in its antiquity,
3ut the nearness Of those dead-and-go
oreot ones Of the earth who had liv
led and died secure in his teachings, h
lily. steadied him.