Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 July 1907 — MORTON’S HOMECOMING. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

MORTON’S HOMECOMING.

By Lester Comstock.

Copyrighted, 1907, by C. H. Sutcliffe.

The cabman regarded Morton with amazement as he gave his direction. “That hotel was torn down five years ago,” he said. “There’s a twelve story office building there now.” Morton named another hotel, only to be met with fresh disappointment, and with an impatient gesture he sank back in the cab. “I want to go to a good hotel,” he said. “You know better than I where I want to go.” The burly figure climbed on the box, and presently the cab was rattling up Broadway. Listlessly Morton looked out of the cab window and marked the changes. It was like a new land, with only here and there a familiar land-

mark. Six years had wrought changes as great as those that had been effectedwithin his heart Six years before the world had seemed bright and pleasant Lucy Desmond had loved him, and his prospects had begun to materialize. Then had come the crash. Howard Desmond had sacrificed his daughter to save his fortune. Half a million wtis needed to support his tottering ventures. Metcalf would lend the money, but not until Lucy had become Mrs. Metcalf had the loan been made. Ten days later the vein had been struck in the mine which Morton owned, and he was a millionaire almost overnight For weeks he had railed against the fate that brought him fortune too late to give him the only thing worth while, the companionship of the woman he loved. , He had tried to meet her in their social encounters with the indifference that convention demanded, but there had come a night when the intoxication of the music, the heavy scent of flowers, had been upon them. It had been iu the conservatory at the Clivers’ dance, and for one mad moment he had held her in his arms, begging her to elope with him.

But even as he pleaded there had come tiie sense of right. He had gently released her and had fled the place. The dawn had found him still in his evening clothes pacing the floor of his apartment, and as the fresh morning air fanned bis flushed face be made his resolution. Before the end of the week he had disposed of all his American interests and had gone abroad. He left no kin behind, and none knew where be had gone. For six years he bad roamed three continents, but always off the path of the tourist. Then bad come the fierce longing for home, and he had come back. Now that he was here he was not certain that he did not regret his decision. All had changed. Everything reminded him that be had lost his place in the life of the city. The stopping of the carriage roused him, and he paid his driver and followed the bellboy into the hotel. He found the stillness of his room intolerable, and after vainly trying to interest himself In the papers he threw them aside and went for a walk. Perhaps in the busy throng he could shake off his memories. Unconsciously be turned his steps in the direction of the park and was well into the shady recesses before he realized where he was. Then he roused himself with a start. It had been Lucy’s favorite walk. It led to a little summer house just around t the cure in the path, the little summer house where they had spent such happy afternoons before Cupid had fled In utter'rout before the onslaughts of Mammon. It seemed perfectly natural that when he had turned the curve he should see her sitting there in the same place where she had sat that afternoon when she told him of- Metcalf’s ultimatum. He smiled at himself for his belief, but the vision seemed so real that he. kept on and presently sank Into the seat beside her. The girl raised her head and smiled. “Lijcy,” he said wonderingly as he took the flrm soft hand she offered. “Is it really you, dear? Of course I know it Isn’t, but you seem so You have come to me hundreds of times before, both waking and dreaming, but never so plainly, dear.” “But suppose that I am not a vision.

Jim?” she asked with smiling lips. "Suppose that it really should be I?” “Then I should have to go,” he said firmly. “I cannot trust myself with you.” “Then let us pretend that I am a vt slou,” she urged. "I really ought to scold you for keeping yourself hidden all these years.” “It was a coward’s retreat,” he admitted, "but I could not see you ths wife of that man.” “And so you left me alone in my misery,” she said reproachfully. Morton shook his head. “It was not that,” he said soberly. “It was that I cared too much for your fair name to stay on.” “I know,” she said tenderly; “but, Jim, you might have left some wood whereby we could have found you.” “To bring me back to misery?”

“To happiness,” she said. “You seem to have found misery where you went” She Ipoked at the face of the man. Every line was touched by the hand of sorrow. Six years before he had been a laughing faced boy. She could remember his every expression. Now his face had gained a seriousness that became it well. He had not sought forgetfulness in dissipation, and the girt was glad. "I suppose that I do show it,” he said, noting her glance. “But you, being only a vision, have not changed. Your eyes have gained a sweet seriousness, but otherwise It is the face that has been before me all these years. You have come to me in many lands, Lucy, but there seems a reality to the vision here that 1 have never known before. I wish that I might always hold you so, dear.” “Wedded to a vision?” she asked mockingly. “Would that content you?” “It had to content me all these years,” he said simply. "It is better so than that I should seek the reality to rob her of her fair name.” “And yet that night,” she whispered, “I was almost ready to say ’yes,’ Jim. Had you persevered I should have yielded.” “I knew it,” he agreed, “and for-that reason I went away so far that no word might reach me and tempt me back to your side. Since I left New York I have spoken to no one whom I used to know.' I did see Teddy Farrington In London once, but he did not see me, and I escaped him, but lately something seemed to call me back. I have been fighting it off for two years, but I grew hungry for of home, to hear the sound of your voice and to look upon your dear face again. I never dreamed that I should find you here; that we Should have our brief hour alone.” “And are you content with the hour?” “It is tetter so. Should I stay on it would all come back. I think I «hall return on the steamer Saturday. I—l am not as strong as I thought.” "May I go with yon?” she asked softly as her hand slipped into his. “Lucy!” The agony of his tones thrilled her. “You silly boy,” she whispered as the regal head bent toward him. “Don't you know that it was I who called you home? I could not find you eave with my spirit and my love, and I have not called you in vain.” "But your husband,” he stammered. “He died two years ago,” she said simply. “That was why I called you, dear. You answered to the voice of love.”

THE VISION SEEMED SO REAL.