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diff --git a/1819-h/1819-h.htm b/1819-h/1819-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f747bb --- /dev/null +++ b/1819-h/1819-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1012 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Messengers, by R. H. Davis + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Messengers, by Richard Harding Davis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Messengers + +Author: Richard Harding Davis + +Release Date: May 12, 2006 [EBook #1819] +Last Updated: September 25, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MESSENGERS *** + + + + +Produced by Don Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE MESSENGERS + </h1> + <h2> + Richard Harding Davis + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + When Ainsley first moved to Lone Lake Farm all of his friends asked him + the same question. They wanted to know, if the farmer who sold it to him + had abandoned it as worthless, how one of the idle rich, who could not + distinguish a plough from a harrow, hoped to make it pay? His answer was + that he had not purchased the farm as a means of getting richer by honest + toil, but as a retreat from the world and as a test of true friendship. He + argued that the people he knew accepted his hospitality at Sherry’s + because, in any event, they themselves would be dining within a taxicab + fare of the same place. But if to see him they travelled all the way to + Lone Lake Farm, he might feel assured that they were friends indeed. + </p> + <p> + Lone Lake Farm was spread over many acres of rocky ravine and forest, at a + point where Connecticut approaches New York, and between it and the + nearest railroad station stretched six miles of an execrable wood road. In + this wilderness, directly upon the lonely lake, and at a spot equally + distant from each of his boundary lines, Ainsley built himself a red brick + house. Here, in solitude, he exiled himself; ostensibly to become a + gentleman farmer; in reality to wait until Polly Kirkland had made up her + mind to marry him. + </p> + <p> + Lone Lake, which gave the farm its name, was a pond hardly larger than a + city block. It was fed by hidden springs, and fringed about with reeds and + cat-tails, stunted willows and shivering birch. From its surface jutted + points of the same rock that had made farming unremunerative, and to these + miniature promontories and islands Ainsley, in keeping with a fancied + resemblance, gave such names as the Needles, St. Helena, the Isle of + Pines. From the edge of the pond that was farther from the house rose a + high hill, heavily wooded. At its base, oak and chestnut trees spread + their branches over the water, and when the air was still were so clearly + reflected in the pond that the leaves seemed to float upon the surface. To + the smiling expanse of the farm the lake was what the eye is to the human + countenance. The oaks were its eyebrows, the fringe of reeds its lashes, + and, in changing mood, it flashed with happiness or brooded in sombre + melancholy. For Ainsley it held a deep attraction. Through the summer + evenings, as the sun set, he would sit on the brick terrace and watch the + fish leaping, and listen to the venerable bull-frogs croaking false alarms + of rain. Indeed, after he met Polly Kirkland, staring moodily at the lake + became his favorite form of exercise. With a number of other men, Ainsley + was very much in love with Miss Kirkland, and unprejudiced friends thought + that if she were to choose any of her devotees, Ainsley should be that + one. Ainsley heartily agreed in this opinion, but in persuading Miss + Kirkland to share it he had not been successful. This was partly his own + fault; for when he dared to compare what she meant to him with what he had + to offer her he became a mass of sodden humility. Could he have known how + much Polly Kirkland envied and admired his depth of feeling, entirely + apart from the fact that she herself inspired that feeling, how greatly + she wished to care for him in the way he cared for her, life, even alone + in the silences of Lone Lake, would have been a beautiful and blessed + thing. But he was so sure she was the most charming and most wonderful + girl in all the world, and he an unworthy and despicable being, that when + the lady demurred, he faltered, and his pleading, at least to his own + ears, carried no conviction. + </p> + <p> + “When one thinks of being married,” said Polly Kirkland gently, “it isn’t + a question of the man you can live with, but the man you can’t live + without. And I am sorry, but I’ve not found that man.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” returned Ainsley gloomily, “that my not being able to live + without you doesn’t affect the question in the least?” + </p> + <p> + “You HAVE lived without me,” Miss Kirkland pointed out reproachfully, “for + thirty years.” + </p> + <p> + “Lived!” almost shouted Ainsley. “Do you call THAT living? What was I + before I met you? I was an ignorant beast of the field. I knew as much + about living as one of the cows on my farm. I could sleep twelve hours at + a stretch, or, if I was in New York, I NEVER slept. I was a Day and Night + Bank of health and happiness, a great, big, useless puppy. And now I can’t + sleep, can’t eat, can’t think—except of you. I dream about you all + night, think about you all day, go through the woods calling your name, + cutting your initials in tree trunks, doing all the fool things a man does + when he’s in love, and I am the most miserable man in the world—and + the happiest!” + </p> + <p> + He finally succeeded in making Miss Kirkland so miserable also that she + decided to run away. Friends had planned to spend the early spring on the + Nile and were eager that she should accompany them. To her the separation + seemed to offer an excellent method of discovering whether or not Ainsley + was the man she could not “live without.” + </p> + <p> + Ainsley saw in it only an act of torture, devised with devilish cruelty. + </p> + <p> + “What will happen to me,” he announced firmly, “is that I will plain DIE! + As long as I can see you, as long as I have the chance to try and make you + understand that no one can possibly love you as I do, and as long as I + know I am worrying you to death, and no one else is, I still hope. I’ve no + right to hope, still I do. And that one little chance keeps me alive. But + Egypt! If you escape to Egypt, what hold will I have on you? You might as + well be in the moon. Can you imagine me writing love-letters to a woman in + the moon? Can I send American Beauty roses to the ruins of Karnak? Here I + can telephone you; not that I ever have anything to say that you want to + hear, but because I want to listen to your voice, and to have you ask, + ‘Oh! is that YOU?’ as though you were glad it WAS me. But Egypt! Can I + call up Egypt on the long-distance? If you leave me now, you’ll leave me + forever, for I’ll drown myself in Lone Lake.” + </p> + <p> + The day she sailed away he went to the steamer, and, separating her from + her friends and family, drew her to the side of the ship farther from the + wharf, and which for the moment, was deserted. Directly below a + pile-driver, with rattling of chains and shrieks from her donkey-engine, + was smashing great logs; on the deck above, the ship’s band was braying + forth fictitious gayety, and from every side they were assailed by the + raucous whistles of ferry-boats. The surroundings were not conducive to + sentiment, but for the first time Polly Kirkland seemed a little + uncertain, a little frightened; almost on the verge of tears, almost + persuaded to surrender. For the first time she laid her hand on Ainsley’s + arm, and the shock sent the blood to his heart and held him breathless. + When the girl looked at him there was something in her eyes that neither + he nor any other man had ever seen there. + </p> + <p> + “The last thing I tell you,” she said, “the thing I want you to remember, + is this, that, though I do not care—I WANT to care.” + </p> + <p> + Ainsley caught at her hand and, to the delight of the crew of a passing + tug-boat, kissed it rapturously. His face was radiant. The fact of parting + from her had caused him real suffering, had marked his face with hard + lines. Now, hope and happiness smoothed them away and his eyes shone with + his love for her. He was trembling, laughing, jubilant. + </p> + <p> + “And if you should!” he begged. “How soon will I know? You will cable,” he + commanded. “You will cable ‘Come,’ and the same hour I’ll start toward + you. I’ll go home now,” he cried, “and pack!” + </p> + <p> + The girl drew away. Already she regretted the admission she had made. In + fairness and in kindness to him she tried to regain the position she had + abandoned. + </p> + <p> + “But a change like that,” she pleaded, “might not come for years, may + never come!” To recover herself, to make the words she had uttered seem + less serious, she spoke quickly and lightly. + </p> + <p> + “And how could I CABLE such a thing!” she protested. “It would be far too + sacred, too precious. You should be able to FEEL that the change has + come.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I should,” assented Ainsley, doubtfully; “but it’s a long way + across two oceans. It would be safer if you’d promise to use the cable. + Just one word: ‘Come.’” + </p> + <p> + The girl shook her head and frowned. + </p> + <p> + “If you can’t feel that the woman you love loves you, even across the + world, you cannot love her very deeply.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t have to answer that!” said Ainsley. + </p> + <p> + “I will send you a sign,” continued the girl, hastily; “a secret wireless + message. It shall be a test. If you love me you will read it at once. You + will know the instant you see it that it comes from me. No one else will + be able to read it; but if you love me, you will know that I love you.” + </p> + <p> + Whether she spoke in metaphor or in fact, whether she was “playing for + time,” or whether in her heart she already intended to soon reward him + with a message of glad tidings, Ainsley could not decide. And even as he + begged her to enlighten him the last whistle blew, and a determined + officer ordered him to the ship’s side. + </p> + <p> + “Just as in everything that is beautiful,” he whispered eagerly, “I always + see something of you, so now in everything wonderful I will read your + message. But,” he persisted, “how shall I be SURE?” + </p> + <p> + The last bag of mail had shot into the hold, the most reluctant of the + visitors were being hustled down the last remaining gangplank. Ainsley’s + state was desperate. + </p> + <p> + “Will it be in symbol, or in cipher?” he demanded. “Must I read it in the + sky, or will you hide it in a letter, or—where? Help me! Give me + just a hint!” + </p> + <p> + The girl shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “You will read it—in your heart,” she said. + </p> + <p> + From the end of the wharf Ainsley watched the funnels of the ship + disappear in the haze of the lower bay. His heart was sore and heavy, but + in it there was still room for righteous indignation. “Read it in my + heart!” he protested. “How the devil can I read it in my heart? I want to + read it PRINTED in a cablegram.” + </p> + <p> + Because he had always understood that young men in love found solace for + their misery in solitude and in communion with nature, he at once drove + his car to Lone Lake. But his misery was quite genuine, and the emptiness + of the brick house only served to increase his loneliness. He had built + the house for her, though she had never visited it, and was associated + with it only through the somewhat indefinite medium of the telephone box. + But in New York they had been much together. And Ainsley quickly decided + that in revisiting those places where he had been happy in her company he + would derive from the recollection some melancholy consolation. He + accordingly raced back through the night to the city; nor did he halt + until he was at the door of her house. She had left it only that morning, + and though it was locked in darkness, it still spoke of her. At least it + seemed to bring her nearer to him than when he was listening to the frogs + in the lake, and crushing his way through the pines. + </p> + <p> + He was not hungry, but he went to a restaurant where, when he was host, + she had often been the honored guest, and he pretended they were at supper + together and without a chaperon. Either the illusion, or the supper + cheered him, for he was encouraged to go on to his club. There in the + library, with the aid of an atlas, he worked out where, after thirteen + hours of moving at the rate of twenty-two knots an hour, she should be at + that moment. Having determined that fact to his own satisfaction, he sent + a wireless after the ship. It read: “It is now midnight and you are in + latitude 40 degrees north, longitude 68 degrees west, and I have grown old + and gray waiting for the sign.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning, and for many days after, he was surprised to find that + the city went on as though she still were in it. With unfeeling regularity + the sun rose out of the East River. On Broadway electric-light signs + flashed, street-cars pursued each other, taxicabs bumped and skidded, + women, and even men, dared to look happy, and had apparently taken some + thought to their attire. They did not respect even his widowerhood. They + smiled upon him, and asked him jocularly about the farm and his “crops,” + and what he was doing in New York. He pitied them, for obviously they were + ignorant of the fact that in New York there were art galleries, shops, + restaurants of great interest, owing to the fact that Polly Kirkland had + visited them. They did not know that on upper Fifth Avenue were houses of + which she had deigned to approve, or which she had destroyed with + ridicule, and that to walk that avenue and halt before each of these + houses was an inestimable privilege. + </p> + <p> + Each day, with pathetic vigilance, Ainsley examined his heart for the + promised sign. But so far from telling him that the change he longed for + had taken place, his heart grew heavier, and as weeks went by and no sign + appeared, what little confidence he had once enjoyed passed with them. + </p> + <p> + But before hope entirely died, several false alarms had thrilled him with + happiness. One was a cablegram from Gibraltar in which the only words that + were intelligible were “congratulate” and “engagement.” This lifted him + into an ecstasy of joy and excitement, until, on having the cable company + repeat the message, he learned it was a request from Miss Kirkland to + congratulate two mutual friends who had just announced their engagement, + and of whose address she was uncertain. He had hardly recovered from this + disappointment than he was again thrown into a tumult by the receipt of a + mysterious package from the custom-house containing an intaglio ring. The + ring came from Italy, and her ship had touched at Genoa. The fact that it + was addressed in an unknown handwriting did not disconcert him, for he + argued that to make the test more difficult she might disguise the + handwriting. He at once carried the intaglio to an expert at the + Metropolitan Museum, and when he was told that it represented Cupid + feeding a fire upon an altar, he reserved a stateroom on the first steamer + bound for the Mediterranean. But before his ship sailed, a letter, also + from Italy, from his aunt Maria, who was spending the winter in Rome, + informed him that the ring was a Christmas gift from her. In his rage he + unjustly condemned Aunt Maria as a meddling old busybody, and gave her + ring to the cook. + </p> + <p> + After two months of pilgrimages to places sacred to the memory of Polly + Kirkland, Ainsley found that feeding his love on post-mortems was poor + fare, and, in surrender, determined to evacuate New York. Since her + departure he had received from Miss Kirkland several letters, but they + contained no hint of a change in her affections, and search them as he + might, he could find no cipher or hidden message. They were merely frank, + friendly notes of travel; at first filled with gossip of the steamer, and + later telling of excursions around Cairo. If they held any touch of + feeling they seemed to show that she was sorry for him, and as she could + not regard him in any way more calculated to increase his discouragement, + he, in utter hopelessness, retreated to the solitude of the farm. In New + York he left behind him two trunks filled with such garments as a man + would need on board a steamer and in the early spring in Egypt. They had + been packed and in readiness since the day she sailed away, when she had + told him of the possible sign. But there had been no sign. Nor did he + longer believe in one. So in the baggage-room of an hotel the trunks were + abandoned, accumulating layers of dust and charges for storage. + </p> + <p> + At the farm the snow still lay in the crevices of the rocks and beneath + the branches of the evergreens, but under the wet, dead leaves little + flowers had begun to show their faces. The “backbone of the winter was + broken” and spring was in the air. But as Ainsley was certain that his + heart also was broken, the signs of spring did not console him. At each + week-end he filled the house with people, but they found him gloomy and he + found them dull. He liked better the solitude of the midweek days. Then + for hours he would tramp through the woods, pretending she was at his + side, pretending he was helping her across the streams swollen with winter + rains and melted snow. On these excursions he cut down trees that hid a + view he thought she would have liked, he cut paths over which she might + have walked. Or he sat idly in a flat-bottomed scow in the lake and made a + pretence of fishing. The loneliness of the lake and the isolation of the + boat suited his humor. He did not find it true that misery loves company. + At least to human beings he preferred his companions of Lone Lake—the + beaver building his home among the reeds, the kingfisher, the blue heron, + the wild fowl that in their flight north rested for an hour or a day upon + the peaceful waters. He looked upon them as his guests, and when they + spread their wings and left him again alone he felt he had been hardly + used. + </p> + <p> + It was while he was sunk in this state of melancholy, and some months + after Miss Kirkland had sailed to Egypt, that hope returned. + </p> + <p> + For a week-end he had invited Holden and Lowell, two former classmates, + and Nelson Mortimer and his bride. They were all old friends of their host + and well acquainted with the cause of his discouragement. So they did not + ask to be entertained, but, disregarding him, amused themselves after + their own fashion. It was late Friday afternoon. The members of the + house-party had just returned from a tramp through the woods and had + joined Ainsley on the terrace, where he stood watching the last rays of + the sun leave the lake in darkness. All through the day there had been + sharp splashes of rain with the clouds dull and forbidding, but now the + sun was sinking in a sky of crimson, and for the morrow a faint moon held + out a promise of fair weather. + </p> + <p> + Elsie Mortimer gave a sudden exclamation, and pointed to the east. “Look!” + she said. + </p> + <p> + The men turned and followed the direction of her hand. In the fading + light, against a background of sombre clouds that the sun could not reach, + they saw, moving slowly toward them and descending as they moved, six + great white birds. When they were above the tops of the trees that edged + the lake, the birds halted and hovered uncertainly, their wings lifting + and falling, their bodies slanting and sweeping slowly, in short circles. + </p> + <p> + The suddenness of their approach, their presence so far inland, something + unfamiliar and foreign in the way they had winged their progress, for a + moment held the group upon the terrace silent. + </p> + <p> + “They are gulls from the Sound,” said Lowell. + </p> + <p> + “They are too large for gulls,” returned Mortimer. “They might be wild + geese, but,” he answered himself, in a puzzled voice, “it is too late; and + wild geese follow a leader.” + </p> + <p> + As though they feared the birds might hear them and take alarm, the men, + unconsciously, had spoken in low tones. + </p> + <p> + “They move as though they were very tired,” whispered Elsie Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Ainsley, “they have lost their way.” + </p> + <p> + But even as he spoke, the birds, as though they had reached their goal, + spread their wings to the full length and sank to the shallow water at the + farthest margin of the lake. + </p> + <p> + As they fell the sun struck full upon them, turning their great pinions + into flashing white and silver. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried the girl, “but they are beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + Between the house and the lake there was a ridge of rock higher than the + head of a man, and to this Ainsley and his guests ran for cover. On hands + and knees, like hunters stalking game, they scrambled up the face of the + rock and peered cautiously into the pond. Below them, less than one + hundred yards away, on a tiny promontory, the six white birds stood + motionless. They showed no sign of fear. They could not but know that + beyond the lonely circle of the pond were the haunts of men. From the farm + came the tinkle of a cow-bell, the bark of a dog, and in the valley, six + miles distant, rose faintly upon the stillness of the sunset hour the + rumble of a passing train. But if these sounds carried, the birds gave no + heed. In each drooping head and dragging wing, in the forward stoop of + each white body, weighing heavily on the slim, black legs, was written + utter weariness, abject fatigue. To each even to lower his bill and sip + from the cool waters was a supreme effort. And in their exhaustion so + complete was something humanly helpless and pathetic. + </p> + <p> + To Ainsley the mysterious visitors made a direct appeal. He felt as though + they had thrown themselves upon his hospitality. That they showed such + confidence that the sanctuary would be kept sacred touched him. And while + his friends spoke eagerly, he remained silent, watching the drooping, + ghost-like figures, his eyes filled with pity. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen birds like those in Florida,” Mortimer was whispering, “but + they were not migratory birds.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ve seen white cranes in the Adirondacks,” said Lowell, “but never + six at one time.” + </p> + <p> + “They’re like no bird I ever saw out of a zoo,” declared Elsie Mortimer. + “Maybe they ARE from the Zoo? Maybe they escaped from the Bronx?” + </p> + <p> + “The Bronx is too near,” objected Lowell. “These birds have come a great + distance. They move as though they had been flying for many days.” + </p> + <p> + As though the absurdity of his own thought amused him, Mortimer laughed + softly. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you what they DO look like,” he said. “They look like that bird + you see on the Nile, the sacred Ibis, they—” + </p> + <p> + Something between a gasp and a cry startled him into silence. He found his + host staring wildly, his lips parted, his eyes open wide. + </p> + <p> + “Where?” demanded Ainsley. “Where did you say?” His voice was so hoarse, + so strange, that they all turned and looked. + </p> + <p> + “On the Nile,” repeated Mortimer. “All over Egypt. Why?” + </p> + <p> + Ainsley made no answer. Unclasping his hold, he suddenly slid down the + face of the rock, and with a bump lit on his hands and knees. With one + bound he had cleared a flower-bed. In two more he had mounted the steps to + the terrace, and in another instant had disappeared into the house. + </p> + <p> + “What happened to him?” demanded Elsie Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “He’s gone to get a gun!” exclaimed Mortimer. “But he mustn’t! How can he + think of shooting them?” he cried indignantly. “I’ll put a stop to that!” + </p> + <p> + In the hall he found Ainsley surrounded by a group of startled servants. + </p> + <p> + “You get that car at the door in five minutes!” he was shouting, “and YOU + telephone the hotel to have my trunks out of the cellar and on board the + Kron Prinz Albert by midnight. Then you telephone Hoboken that I want a + cabin, and if they haven’t got a cabin I want the captain’s. And tell them + anyway I’m coming on board to-night, and I’m going with them if I have to + sleep on deck. And YOU,” he cried, turning to Mortimer, “take a shotgun + and guard that lake, and if anybody tries to molest those birds—shoot + him! They’ve come from Egypt! From Polly Kirkland! She sent them! They’re + a sign!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going mad?” cried Mortimer. + </p> + <p> + “No!” roared Ainsley. “I’m going to Egypt, and I’m going NOW!” + </p> + <p> + Polly Kirkland and her friends were travelling slowly up the Nile, and had + reached Luxor. A few hundred yards below the village their dahabiyeh was + moored to the bank, and, on the deck, Miss Kirkland was watching a scarlet + sun sink behind two palm-trees. By the grace of that special Providence + that cares for drunken men, citizens of the United States, and lovers, her + friends were on shore, and she was alone. For this she was grateful, for + her thoughts were of a melancholy and tender nature and she had no wish + for any companion save one. In consequence, when a steam-launch, + approaching at full speed with the rattle of a quick-firing gun, broke + upon her meditations, she was distinctly annoyed. + </p> + <p> + But when, with much ringing of bells and shouting of orders, the + steam-launch rammed the paint off her dahabiyeh, and a young man flung + himself over the rail and ran toward her, her annoyance passed, and with a + sigh she sank into his outstretched, eager arms. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later Ainsley laughed proudly and happily. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he exclaimed, “you can never say I kept YOU waiting. I didn’t lose + much time, did I? Ten minutes after I got your C. Q. D. signal I was going + down the Boston Post Road at seventy miles an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “My what?” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “The sign!” explained Ainsley. “The sign you were to send me to tell me”—he + bent over her hands and added gently—“that you cared for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I remember,” laughed Polly Kirkland. “I was to send you a sign, + wasn’t I? You were to ‘read it in your heart’,” she quoted. + </p> + <p> + “And I did,” returned Ainsley complacently. “There were several false + alarms, and I’d almost lost hope, but when the messengers came I knew + them.” + </p> + <p> + With puzzled eyes the girl frowned and raised her head. + </p> + <p> + “Messengers?” she repeated. “I sent no message. Of course,” she went on, + “when I said you would ‘read it in your heart’ I meant that if you REALLY + loved me you would not wait for a sign, but you would just COME!” She + sighed proudly and contentedly. “And you came. You understood that, didn’t + you?” she asked anxiously. + </p> + <p> + For an instant Ainsley stared blankly, and then to hide his guilty + countenance drew her toward him and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he stammered—“of course I understood. That was why I + came. I just couldn’t stand it any longer.” + </p> + <p> + Breathing heavily at the thought of the blunder he had so narrowly + avoided, Ainsley turned his head toward the great red disk that was + disappearing into the sands of the desert. He was so long silent that the + girl lifted her eyes, and found that already he had forgotten her presence + and, transfixed, was staring at the sky. On his face was bewilderment and + wonder and a touch of awe. The girl followed the direction of his eyes, + and in the swiftly gathering darkness saw coming slowly toward them, and + descending as they came, six great white birds. + </p> + <p> + They moved with the last effort of complete exhaustion. In the drooping + head and dragging wings of each was written utter weariness, abject + fatigue. For a moment they hovered over the dahabiyeh and above the two + young lovers, and then, like tired travellers who had reached their + journey’s end, they spread their wings and sank to the muddy waters of the + Nile and into the enveloping night. + </p> + <p> + “Some day,” said Ainsley, “I have a confession to make to you.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Messengers, by Richard Harding Davis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MESSENGERS *** + +***** This file should be named 1819-h.htm or 1819-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/1/1819/ + +Produced by Don Lainson; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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