Then Truedale sighed as if waking
from a dream. He performed the duties Jim had left to his tender
mercy--the feeding of the animals, the piling up of wood. Then he forced
himself to take a long walk. He ate his evening meal late, and finally
sat down to his task of writing letters. He wrote six to Brace Kendall
and tore them up; he wrote one to his uncle and put it aside for
consideration when the effect of his day dreams left him sane enough to
judge it. Finally he managed a note to Dr. McPherson and one to Lynda
Kendall.
"I think"--so the letter to Lynda ran--"that I will work regularly, now,
on the play. With more blood in my own body I can hope to put more into
that. I'm going to get it out to-morrow and begin the infusion. I wish
you were here to-night--to see the wonderful effect of the moon on the
mists--but there! if I said more you might guess where I am. When I come
back I shall try to describe it and some day you must see it. Several
times lately I have imagined an existence here with one's work and
enough to subsist on. No worry, no nerve-racking, and always the
tremendous beauty to inspire one! Nothing seems wholly real here."
Then Truedale put down his pen. Nella-Rose crowded Lynda Kendall from
the field of vision; later, he simply signed his name and let the note
go with that.
As for Nella-Rose, as soon as she left Truedale, her mind turned to
sterner matters close at hand.
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