"Seems as it did the day Daisy died," Andy said, his eyes filling with
tears.
To Richard it was far worse than the day Daisy died, for he had then the
memory of her last loving words in his ear, and the feeling of her
clinging kiss upon his lips, while now the memories of the lost one were
only bitter and sad in the extreme.
"Melinda suggested a letter or something. Where do you suppose she would
put it if there were one?" Richard asked in a helpless, appealing way,
as he sank into a chair and looked wistfully around the room.
He had been very bold and strong in the cars and in the street; but
here, in the deserted room, where Ethie used to be, and where something
said she would never be again, he was weak as a girl, and leaned wholly
upon Andy, who seemed to feel how much was depending upon him, and so
kept up a cheery aspect while he kindled a fresh fire and cleared the
ashes from the hearth by blowing them off upon the oilcloth; then, as
the warmth began to make itself felt and the cold to diminish, he
answered Richard's query.
"In her draw, most likely; mother mostly puts her traps there." So, to
the "draw" they went--the very one where Daisy's ring was lying; and
Richard saw that first, knowing now for sure that Ethelyn had fled.
He knew so before, but this made it more certain--more dreadful, too,
for it showed a determination never to return.
"It was Daisy's, you know," he said to Andy, who, at his side, was not
looking at the ring, but beyond it, to the two letters, his own and
Richard's, both of which he seized with a low cry, for he, too, was sure
of Ethie's flight.
"See, Dick, there's one for you and one for me," he exclaimed, and his
face grew very red as he tore open his own note and began to devour the
contents, whispering the words, and breaking down entirely amid a storm
of sobs and tears as he read: "DEAR ANDY: I wish I could tell you how much I love you, and how sorry I
am to fall in your good opinion, as I surely shall when you hear what
has happened. Do not hate me, Andy; and sometimes, when you pray,
remember Ethie, won't you?"
He could get no farther than this, and with a great cry he buried his
face in his hands and sobbed: "Yes, Ethie, I will, I will; but oh, what
is it? What made you go? Why did she, Dick?" and he turned to his
brother, who, with lightning rapidity, was reading Ethelyn's long
letter. He did not doubt a word she said, and when the letter was
finished he put it passively in Andy's hand, and then, with a bitter
groan, laid his throbbing head upon the cushion of the lounge where he
was sitting. There were no tears in his eyes--nothing but blood-red
circles floating before them; while the aching balls seemed starting
from their sockets with the pressure of pain. He had had his chance with
Ethie and lost it; and though, as yet, he saw but dimly where he had
been to blame, where he had made a mistake, he endured for the time all
he was capable of enduring, and if revenge had been her object, Ethie
had more than her desire.