cable for
Ethelyn to have come. "Poor Ethie," he called her to himself, pitying
her because, vain man that he was, he thought her so lonely without him.
This was at first, and before he had received in reply to his letter
that dreadful blank, which sent such a chill to his heart, making him
cold, and faint, and sick, as he began to realize what it was in a
woman's power to do. He had occasionally thought of Ethelyn's threat,
not to write him a line, and felt very uncomfortable as he recalled the
expression of her eyes when she made it. But he did not believe she was
in earnest. She surely could not hold out against the letter he wrote,
telling how he missed her every moment, and how, if it had been at all
advisable, he would have taken her with him. He did not know Ethelyn,
and so was not prepared for the bitter disappointment in store for him
when the dainty little envelope was put into his hand. It was her
handwriting--so much he knew; and there lingered about the missive faint
traces of the sweet perfume he remembered as pervading everything she
wore or used. Ethelyn had not kept her vow; and with a throb of joy
Richard tore open the envelope and removed the delicate tinted sheet
inside. But the hand of the strong man shook and his heart grew heavy as
lead when he turned the sheet thrice over, seeking in vain for some line
or word, or syllable or sign. But there was none. Ethelyn had kept her
vow, and Richard felt for a moment as if all the world were as
completely a blank as that bit of gilt-edged paper he crumpled so
helplessly in his hand. Anon, however, hope whispered that she would
write next time; she could not hold out thus all winter; and so Richard
wrote again with the same success, until at last he expected nothing,
and people said of him that he was growing old, while even Melinda
noticed his altered appearance, and how fast his brown hair was turning
gray. Melinda was in one sense his good angel. She brought him news from
home and Ethelyn, telling for one thing of Ethie's offer to teach her
music during the winter; and for another, of Ethie's long drives upon
the prairie, sometimes with James, sometimes with John, but oftenest
with Andy, to whom she seemed to cling as to a very dear brother.

This news did Richard good, showing a better side of Ethie's character
than the one presented to him. She was not cold and proud to the family
at home; even his mother, who wrote to him once or twice, spoke kindly
of