Evening times-Republican. [volume] (Marshalltown, Iowa) 1890-1923, 1918-09-25
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T Ward spent his sabbatical year In
Oxford. He had thought to md peace
by exchanging one form Of activity for
another, but with the less arduous du-
ties Of his work there he had more
time to think. He found the old pain
even greater; his restlessness grew on
him. In the three years since ElinoFs
flight he had done many things. He
had left Woningham for New York,
and could feel hs usefulness now
only bounded by his strength.
But the old zest of life was gone. He
was restless, heavier Of spirit There
had been times when he had thought
that he was forgetting, only to dis
cover, through q stray resemblance.
while his heart pounded and his blood
raced, that his forgetting was only the
numbness of suffering.
Once, ON the Strand In London. he
came face to face with Boroday. Ward
would never forget that meeting, Its
quick hope which died into the old
ache at Boroday's words.
II have not seen her." he said. II
am always looking. Perhaps she is
wise, to break with Us an. Still, we
loved her. have never married, and
she was like my own child"
He had taken clerkship IN Lon
DON he said. While, Of course, he did
not say 50, Ward read between his
words that he was done with the old
life for good. He held out his hand
and the Russian took it.
If I hear anything" Boroday said.
"rI let you know. Once or twice she
wrote me: from Liverpool once, after
she landed, and again from here. Then
the police closed up the Dago's place,
which was the only way she knew to
reach me. I've never, heard since"
Then you think she may be in Eng
land?' Ward asked eagerly.
The Russian shrugged his shoulders.
perhaps, If she Is living. She was
not strong. Sometimes wonder"
So, after all, Ward took an extra
pang away with him from the chance
meeting. What If, after all, his watch
ing and waiting meant nothing? If
she were gone, beyond earthly And
ing? Death for him might be . begin
ming only, Q door to eternity, but all
the philosophy and hope Of his faith
did not fill his empty human arms.
That night he walked the London
ssreets until dawn.
He came back from Oxford at the
end Of his course there. Home was
calling, and work, blessed work, that
brings forgetfulness.
On the last Sunday before he sailed
he attended service in Saint Paurs. he
knew the church well. In those earlier
days when philosophy had taken his
young brain by storm and his faith
had rocked, he had gone to Saint
Pauls. Something in the very solidity
of the old church, in its antiquity, In
the nearness of those dead-and-gone
great ones Of the earth who had lived
and died secure in his teachings, had
steadied hin.
And now, when it was his heart that
failed, and not his soul, he went there.
It was there that he found Elinor.
She was just in front Of him, in the
prim garb Of an English army nurse.
And 1t was no resemblance that reused
his first interest. What he saw was
only slender girl, kneeling, and evil
IDENTIFY in tears. She was very thin /;
he saw that, and her shoulders heaved
convulsively. But as the service went
on she grew quieter. When she rose
from her knees at last, she was quite
calm.
It was then that he knew her.
Ward watched her with an ache In
his throat. She looked frail. sad. Al
ways in his mind he had pictured her
IN her summer garden, flower herself
among her flowers, or as she had
looked that night in old Hilary's IL
brary, the night when, to save him,
she had told him the shameful truth
about herself. And now he found her
here, wearing the gavb Of service, and
on her knees! :.
So fearful was he of losing her that
he stayed close as the congregation
moved slowly out of the church. She
did not intend to go; he saw that. She
stepped out Of the crowd and waited.