the sweetest strains of her life had been broken. She recognized the
generally accepted view that if the union between a man and a woman be
broken, the lives affected by the dissolution must necessarily be
crippled and their usefulness impaired. But this view of life had
gradually changed as she came into a larger, more scientific view of
life. Now she believed that nothing but a violation of the life
Principle could mar a life or rob it of its legitimate rights. She had
come to understand that there is a Law back of Life, a Law to which all
the children of creation must conform, and that nothing but an
infringement of God's law can hurt or destroy in all His holy mountain.
And the natural deduction followed that all relationships between
individuals must be honest, sincere and pure. And that any law, written
or unwritten, that fosters or favors the domination or control of one
person over another is a mortal law, and invariably an immoral one. Man
in the image and likeness of God is governed by righteousness and not by
his fellow men.
Mrs. Thorpe was no longer a frail woman; her physical development had
come about gradually and naturally. Her form that had remained slender
and girlish long after her girlhood days had passed, was now rounded out
into full contour of womanhood. Her eyes that had been too large and
bright for her colorless face, now blended harmoniously with her soft,
warm color. No stimulants nor artificial means had been employed to
bring about this change; it had come naturally with her changed attitude
toward life, her scientific understanding of life harmonious, as the
reflection of the Infinite. Where once she had been irrational,
ignorant and ill, now she was sensible, wise and well; the one following
the other in natural sequence in the physical as well as in the mental
condition.
Yet she was always frank with herself; she missed the love and
companionship that had once been hers. She walked over to one of the
windows and seated herself on the window-seat. The wind came in softly
and touched the tendrils of brown hair about her face. She looked far
off to the distant blue hills. "Maurice," she called, softly; "Maurice."
Deep in her heart she knew that the old relationship could never exist
between them again. They were both children of the one God, answerable
to Him only. It was a violation of this law of life, a conception
derived from tradition, and tainted with paganism that had brought about
their downfall. "But oh, Maurice," she whispered, "I love you, love
you!"
The flowers outside the window nodded and swayed in the gentle wind, and
a bird whose happy secret lay concealed within reach of her hand,
twittered, unafraid, on a swaying bough; and the twilight settled down
about her.
When Mrs. Thorpe arose she shook herself free from the memories that had
clung about her, and walked out into the semi-darkness. Wholesome and
whole-souled, she was little given to retrospection or introspection,
but chose to live her life in the fruitful present.
As she neared her home she saw that a light was burning inside.
"It is Jamie," she thought. Dear little Jamie; how many times he had
remembered her, and lighted her home and laid her fire.
With a light heart she ascended the steps and entered the house. She
glanced through the rooms to the little kitchen, where she expected to
see the boy fixing the fire, or laying the table, perhaps.
"Jamie," she called, gently. "Jamie."
There was no response from the room beyond, but from a seat near her a
man arose and confronted her--a man bronzed and bearded, who showed the
impress of mountain life and contact with nature.
The light in the room was dim, but the recognition was instantaneous.
"Evelyn! Evelyn, my wife!" His arms were about her, and she lifted her
face to his, as she had done on their bridal morn.
"Evelyn," he whispered, "can you forgive--forgive the wrong--the cruel
years?"
She put out her hand and laid it against his face.
"There is nothing to forgive, Maurice--nothing to forgive--love is
everything."
"And I have loved you, Evelyn; you have been near me, with me always."
"Always, Maurice."