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Updated: September 27, 2025
It traveled widely, amassed postmarks and forwarding addresses, and eventually came to its final port. Worn out with the hopeless quest of forgetfulness in far lands, Io Eyre came back to New York. It was there that the long pursuit of her by Camilla Van Arsdale's letter ended.
"I must leave her with you," answered Donaldson unsteadily. The boy scarcely recognized the voice, but it roused him to a danger which he felt without understanding. "Why, man dear," he exclaimed, "what would I count to Elaine with you gone? Don't you know? Have n't you seen?" They were the identical words Donaldson had used in trying to open Arsdale's eyes to another great truth.
Banneker flushed angrily. "There's no question of my being compromised," he began shortly. "You're wrong, Ban; there is," Miss Van Arsdale's quiet voice cut him short again. "And still more of Miss Welland's. What sort of escapade this may be," she added, turning to the girl, "I have no idea. But you cannot stay here alone." "Can't I?" retorted the other mutinously. "I think that rests with Mr.
But even as he stood with loose lips before the infirm features of the younger man, he realized that Arsdale's talk had been the chatter of a child. He had used the phrase idly and, although it was possible he might in just as idle a mood commit the act itself, Donaldson was convinced that it was not yet a fixed idea.
Banneker, at home again, planted a garden of dreams, and lived in it, mechanically acceptant of the outer world, resentful of any intrusion upon that flowerful retreat. Even of Miss Van Arsdale's. Not for days thereafter did the Hunger come. It began as a little gnawing doubt and disappointment. It grew to a devastating, ravening starvation of the heart, for sign or sight or word of Io Welland.
He glanced at the clock. Over half of his first day already gone. He heard the crunching wheels of the taxicab on the graveled road outside. Hurrying into the hall he took one of Arsdale's hats he had lost his own in the machine and slipped into his overcoat. Still he paused, curiously reluctant to leave her.
"Man," answered Donaldson almost solemnly, "you have done your good even you, in spite of yourself." "But not to Elaine where I should have done most!" Donaldson's hand rested a moment on Arsdale's shoulder. "Yes," he said, "I like to think you have been of some service even to her." Arsdale rose to his feet. "If I could think that if I could look her in the eyes again!" "Look her in the eyes!
Some ten years later a little girl of nine appeared, a niece of Arsdale's, it was said, and this completed the household, though old Père Moisson died in the course of time, leaving his wife and Jacques as a sort of legacy to his old master, for a body-guard.
God keep me from letting her know of my love. So it is best." "Don't you see now?" Again that phrase of his which had come back through Arsdale's lips to scorch him. All he could say aloud was, "I must go, and if I can, I will come back." "I mean nothing to you if I cannot help you now," she said steadily. "If the road were smooth to you do you think I could tell you what I have?
This reply, which took the managing editor somewhat aback, was accurate if not explanatory. Miss Van Arsdale's commentaries upon Gardner and his quest had inspired Banneker with a contemptuous distaste for this type of journalism. But chiefly he had shunned the society columns from dread of finding there some mention of her who had been Io Welland.
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