“I became embittered, changed completely out of any semblance to my former self. I cursed my father. I cursed the world. I would have welcomed death, but as I looked down at the tiny mite by my dead wife’s side, I knew that I must fight to live.
“A short time after, I received from my father a letter in which he asked my forgiveness. I was unfitted to make my own way in the world, yet my father had turned me brutally away. My wife had died from overwork and lack of food. I wrote to him in a black rage a letter that must have scorched his soul.
“For four years I eked out a miserable existence in the City. My health broke down again, and my doctor warned me that I must get to a higher altitude. I learned of this place, turned everything into cash, and came here, bringing Connie with me.
“My sole income has been derived from writing articles on Nature for the newspapers and magazines. Several times my father has advertised in the newspapers, asking me to return. I read of his death two weeks ago. For Constance’s sake, I am going to start for England to-morrow.”
Wainwright’s head drooped listlessly as he concluded his story. All energy, all strength of bearing, seemed to have gone from him. The bitter remembrances he had voiced had brought a look of mental anguish to his face. He stood staring mutely before him.
Donald’s heart ached for this man, whose great love for his wife was as passionate at this moment as when she was living. “How he loved her!” he thought.
When Wainwright spoke again his voice was spiritless. “You are the first person to whom I have spoken of my past; even Constance does not know.” As he turned to leave Donald gripped his hand in silence, but with a pressure eloquent of heart-felt sympathy.
Andy had noticed Donald’s increasing interest in Connie and had wisely refrained from accompanying him on his nightly visits. On this particular night Donald came into the kitchen whistling a lively air, his face wreathed in smiles. He slapped Andy heartily on the back as he asked him for a lunch. His gaiety was so pronounced that Andy studied him closely.
“You look ’appy, Donnie,” he remarked.
“I am, Andy; I’m the happiest man in the world.”