The Wolf Point herald. (Wolf Point, Mont.) 1913-1940, 1924-03-27

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because time had no longer any mean,
ing for him. Indeed, it was with diff
iculty that he brought himself to the
realization that he was dead. His
first thought had been that he was
i'll, or ever insane.
He, James Miller, the millionaire,
whose word had been law and dogma,
who had dominated his timid little
wife until her death, and tyrannized
over his daughter, Emily, and driven
her from his home when she married
young Pearsall against his wishes-he
was reduced to sorry straits.
He found himself in a condition out
side space and time, a place colorless,
shapeless, and above all, hideously
alone.
And that was the terrific part of it,
that he, who had had hundreds at his
beck and call, should be so utterly
alone. He had only one companion.
That was remorse. Remorse, at first
hardly recognizable for what it was,
then slowly strengthening as the stu
alton dawned upon him, as the freed
mind began to sift out the wrongs of
life, the wrongs that he had commit
ted.
And deepest of all was his treat
ment of his daughter, Emily. She had
been the one person he had really
loved. She was the one person who
had really loved him. When she fell
In love with young Pearsall it was ar
rogance that had impelled him to lay
down his ultimatum.
She would give the fellow up or
leave his house forever.
To his amazement Emily had chosen
love, and left him.
He had regretted his act bitterly,
but had been too proud to Forgiven
ask forgiveness. He knew where the
couple lived. He had seen their little
bungalow IN the outskirts Of the town.
Pearsall was doing well in a modest
way, but they were poor, and he
would never mount to anything. Old
Miller had meant to change that will
which left everything to charity-a
sort of charity !-only he had
died.
Dead, beyond redemption, and his
lost! That money which
should have gone to Emily, in the
hands of strangers. How she must
hate him
This was the remorse that became
his companion in that shadowy realm
of which he was a denizen, until his
despair became so overmastering that
the creative power of the soul came
play. If only he could have the
opportunity to make it up to Emily
If only he could see her again and
ask her forgivenessl
And with the exercise of that crea-
tive power he seemed to overleap the
conditions that bound him. He found
himself within the cottage.
A shadowy wrath, he crept through
he poorly furnished rooms until he
found the one in which his daughter
vas lying. She was lying in bed, her
ACE flushed, the sweat of agony upon
Ter brow. Beside her stood her hus-
)and.
He took her hand in his. "How do
you feel, darling?" old Miller heard
lin saying.
ooh, so sick, dear! Stay with mel"
The wrath looked down with in
mite pity and emorse upon his daugh-
err. Emily i'll? He didn't understand.
What was the matter with her?
But he felt in some strange way
to her as he had never been
efore. Re felt that she comprised
verything that he needed. He want
d her as he had never wanted any J
before. |
1t was all he could do to keep from l
back into that nebulous place I
rom which he had emerged. Only
18th the most intense concentration of J
ill power. .
And yet he was slipping. But not '
, there. A sense of peace en- 1
olded him, he felt that in this sec
nd loss of self he was passing to a c
happiness. {
+ + 4 = y !.
Emily and her husband leaned over :,
lie cradle, looking at the child. :
HE has fathers eyes, hasn't he, :
she said. Dear father. You :
now, 1 am sure he always meant to :,
D right by us. You see, I understood =
I'm. I've often wished that 1 could L
him so. Look, look! He seems
know me already !"
The child stretched up its tiny hands
her and smiled