Chapter XXVII. When Waters Engulf Us We Reach For A Star

           

           Itwaswhenhereturnedfromhisdisturbedstrollaboutthestreets,afterreceivingthedecisivenotefromMcGregor,JamesandHay,thatHurstwoodfoundtheletterCarriehadwrittenhimthatmorning.Hethrilledintenselyashenotedthehandwriting,andrapidlytoreitopen.

           “Then,”hethought,“shelovesmeorshewouldnothavewrittentomeatall.”

           Hewasslightlydepressedatthetenorofthenoteforthefirstfewminutes,butsoonrecovered.“Shewouldn’twriteatallifshedidn’tcareforme.”

           Thiswashisoneresourceagainstthedepressionwhichheldhim.Hecouldextractlittlefromthewordingoftheletter,butthespirithethoughtheknew.

           Therewasreallysomethingexceedinglyhuman—ifnotpathetic—inhisbeingthusrelievedbyaclearlywordedreproof.Hewhohadforsolongremainedsatisfiedwithhimselfnowlookedoutsideofhimselfforcomfort—andtosuchasource.Themysticcordsofaffection!Howtheybindusall.

           Thecolourcametohischeeks.ForthemomentheforgottheletterfromMcGregor,JamesandHay.IfhecouldonlyhaveCarrie,perhapshecouldgetoutofthewholeentanglement—perhapsitwouldnotmatter.Hewouldn’tcarewhathiswifedidwithherselfifonlyhemightnotloseCarrie.Hestoodupandwalkedabout,dreaminghisdelightfuldreamofalifecontinuedwiththislovelypossessorofhisheart.

           Itwasnotlong,however,beforetheoldworrywasbackforconsideration,andwithitwhatweariness!Hethoughtofthemorrowandthesuit.Hehaddonenothing,andherewastheafternoonslippingaway.Itwasnowaquarteroffour.

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