The Hermit of Far End

y of a lost soul. The eerie sound of it served in some indefinable way to emphasise the cosy warmth and security of the room wh

e its pages, unconscious of the keen blue eyes that

er, and now, as he sat quietly watching the slender figure on the opposite side of the hearth, it wore a c

he laid aside the newspaper he had been readin

r fences as yo

ed up abs

ything?" she as

his shoulders

id, and, as I've never been in favour of postponing a thing

ara's attention

ked quickly. "You ha

le crossed

alk with Dr. McPherson yesterday, and the upshot of it is that I may be requ

no effort to "break the news," or soften it in any way. He had always been pr

me weeks-for, though silent on the matter, she had not failed to observe his appearance of increasing frail

mea

s legs, cloaked beneath the inevitable rug. "After all," he continued, "life-and death-are both fearfull

o . . . without you

" He broke off short, his blue eyes dreaming. Presently he gave his shoulders the characteristic little sha

So, since the fiat has gone forth-McPherson's a sound man and knows his job-let's face it t

, her face

w. I shan't

you'll find, when the time comes. Unfortunately, however, there's no getting rou

rd?" asked Sara listlessly. "Aren

old Timothy Durward left him his property on condition that he adopted

e to live with you," observed Sara thoughtfull

his wife-she was a Miss Eden-were stationed in India so many years, I rather lost touch with them. They came home when the Durward pr

ara's eyes lift

e always remained a bache

gh there were plenty of men who did." He regarded Sara with an odd

l me

ok his

ow soon enough

e seemed to pull himself up short, forcing himself back

t. It's entailed, and the income with it. But I've a clear four hundred a year,

rst out Sara passionately. "It's ha

a little touched by youth

rom wrecking your life as she wrecked hers. And money-a secure little income of her own-is a very good sort of shield for a women. Four hundred's not enough to satisfy a mercenary individual, but it's enough to enable a woman to

that troubled on her lips, or, if he did, had no m

only wanted you to know that, whatever happens, you will

s all I should care about!

ss nor deep grief suffice to deaden for very long the pinpricks of material discomfort. But the worldly-wise old man possessed a broad tolera

handing out the usual platitudes, and holding forth on the example of Christian fortitude exhibited by a very wealthy lady in the neighbourhood, who had also been recently widowed. 'That's all very well,

rily alert and cheerful-so alive that Sara began to hope Dr. McPherson had been mistaken in his opinion, and that

d one day, driven by the very human instinct to hear her optimism e

shook

ound, I've found life a very good sort of thing-although"-reflectively-"I've missed the best it

, to meet death with the same cheerful, half-humorou

special den with a gay little joke on her lips and a great bunch of mistlet

uld see the back of Patrick's head with its thick crop of grizzle

. . Uncle!" Her voice shrilled on to a sharp s

a clock and the loud beating of her own heart. The two seemed to merge into one gigantic pu

e throbbing ceased, and she was only conscious of a solitude so

piness and content, as though he had just found something for which he had been searching. He had looked like that a thousand times, when, seeking for her, he had come upon her, at last,

ts dreadful passivity stinging her into realization of the truth. Patrick was dead. And, judgi

r any more-not quite like this, Patrick sitting in his accustomed place, wearing his beloved old tweeds, with an immacula

he voice-Patrick's voice-seemed to sound in h

d to her throat, and stood silen

uiet moments, alone for the last time with Patrick Lovell, Sara tried to gather strength and courage from her memories