The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1917-02-05
EVENING STORY


was a struggle to reach out for COM
| mon sense after the blind unreason of
affection, and there was nothing to
| help except the newnesS Of the lie
| about her. 1t was as if she had gone
| back to the very beginning of things.
/ In way she had. She and her father
were living outside a French village
| in weatherbeaten house across the
| border from New Brunswick. with a
cook stove, two beds, a rough table
and a couple of chairs. Her father
was like boy in this environment and
| did the cooking, while Ann made a
determined effort to find a glimmer OF
| light, otherwise called sanity, in the
/ darkness that encompassed her.
| When she reached st. Attegat, dur
/ ing the early days of June, she had
/ been too Indifferent to care for the
quaintness of her surroundings. her
father had been alarmed about her
health, and the family physician, I'M
able to discover cause for the illness,
! had sent her where he knew the air
/ was sweet and pure. He had spent
| summer in the village when a boy and
| had never forgotten the delightful
experience.
You will be a better woman inside
of month, Ann he had told her.
and, being seriously alarmed about her
condition he had hurried her away.
AS she sat listless under the shadow
of a sugar maple Ann thought of his
words. She had honestly tried to
bring herself into touch with the life
about her, but health was yet too
| far away for her to have any other
| feeling than one of indifference.
| What could a boys experience have TIC
/ do with a woman sick at heart and
weary of everything that made life
! worth living, she thought, wretched-
! ly- Therein lay the secret She was
heartsick for that which she was try
| ing to put out of her life. Yet she
wondered miserably if the boys ex-
! perience could help; if the things in
which he had found delight could
bring about her salvation
J Her life was primitive in the eX-
! treme. She was miles from railroad
and the mail came but once a month.
1 She and her father were dependent
| upon a neighbor, Mr.. Chandler. for
! that and he had brought it for the
/ first time that evening. There We're
no letters. She had expected none.
| but the longing of the spirit cannot
! always be subjected to pride and
there were times. like the present,
when it seemed as if nothing mattered
| but the sight of the man she cared
/ for. And she had given him up. The
cruelty of it was that she had learned
she was but the means to an end; had
! stumbled upon the knowledge within
a week of her wedding day
In the Corcoran art gallery she had
paused beside the entrance to one of
! the rooms when the murmur of
voices caught and held her attention
mo, do not love her. she heard
! fortunately / am interested in no
other woman, else it might go hard
| with me. Her father is wealthy She
! is rich in her own right and 1 will be
able to crafty ambitions hitherto
merely dreams As he finished
speaking two men came face to face
with Ann and she looked directly into
| the eyes of the man she had expected
to marry.
Pride came to her aid in her effort
| to adjust herself to her new o.ltlooI,
upon life, but in the end she was
bundled off to St. Attegat, and here
she met Mr.. Chandler, with whom her
father found congenial eompanionship
Ann was uncertain about him He had
n way of watching her that was dis
concerning, and this, in time, made
| her conscious she was not good to
| lock at. She became oversensitive
| about her lack of color and one day
! rummaged thru her trunk for her
vanity box and was chagrined not to
find it.
This incident marked a change. I'm
perceptibly the outdoor life was MAX
| ing a difference in Ann. She took
| long walks and would stroll off for
| hours alone. One evening she did not
| return. Hours later Chandler and her
/ father found her on the edge of the
| river with twisted ankle and disIo-
Gated shoulder She had slipped from
! she told them later.
! When they discovered her Mr. Nor
gan promptly went to pieces. She
was all he had, and if anything hap
pened to her he was of more use
than n baby. Mr. Chandler carried
/ her home with about as much feel
ing as If she had been a bundle of
| rags, she thought, in the moment
| when a glimmer of reason made her
! try to recover her dignity and slip
ha
her 8. little shake and told ner to lie
still.
Just the merest joggle, but it sent
/ needles Of flame all over her, and she
knew nothing more until she was on
her bed with the two bending over
her.
| Between them she was made COM
Portable; yet she was not comfortable
| in her mind. She could not understand
! the odd look in Mr.. Chambers eyes
/ when she had first opened her own,
! and now, after a month of inactivity,
she was still puzzled. She had not seen
| it since. He gave her understanding
and pleasant friendship, but that was
all.
And she had begun to care More
than that She acknowledged to her
| self she did care. The thought trou-
bled her. Was she lacking in con-
| stancy that she could so soon forget
| one man for another? But as she
! iOOhCO OdOh dpOil llAOSC 1SNSilSu odyS,
she told herself she had been in love
| with love. That. she knew, was not
i the real thing. and she had discovered
/ this. here in the midst of nature-had
learned to distinguish between the
| false and the true, and with all her
heart she prayed that the thing that
| makes life perfect would come to her.
/ And it came unexpectedly, as so
/ often happens. She was alone, trying
for the first time to walk about the
house. clinging to whatever offered
/ support, when she heard footsteps.
! Turning hastily. she saw Mr.. Chandler
/ standing in the doorway with arms
| out-stretched. He said no word and
/ she did not speak, but with shining