No prayers could avail to stay their
coming, and from that time all the troubles in the world began. No man
was allowed to have his own way thenceforward, nor was he permitted to
plod along in his old, slow, comfortable fashion, but each one in
terror went to work as swift as a loon flying before a high wind."
The laugh that arose at the end of this not strictly authentic
narrative was prolonged by a strange voice, and Allan Dunlop, who,
unobserved, had made his appearance among them, now came forward to
exchange greetings with his friends. Herbert and Eva Macleod hung
enraptured about him, while he went to congratulate the old Indian
upon his gifts as a story-teller. Then Edward's warm hand clasped his.
"Come over and see my father," he said. "Oh, no, he is asleep. He
generally sleeps in the afternoon of the day."
"A very good plan when one comes to the afternoon of one's days,"
observed Allan, and then he went over to speak to Rose.
Her little soft hand fluttered up to his as a bird flutters to its
nest. They had not met since that stormy March night. Since then he
had confessed, in correspondence between them, that life was a
perpetual struggle between him and love, and she had asked--though not
in so many words--if it would make it any easier for him to know that
she was engaged in the same struggle with the same great enemy.
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