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Updated: May 26, 2025
He talked freely with his mother and with Carlia's parents on all possible phases of the matter, until, seemingly, there was nothing more to be said. To others, he said nothing. Ever since Dorian had been taught to lisp his simple prayers at his mother's knee, he had found strength and comfort in going to the Lord.
He noticed that the bare boards of the stairs had been covered with a carpet, which made his ascending steps quite noiseless. Everything was still in Carlia's room. The door was slightly ajar, so he softly pushed it open. Carlia was lying on her bed asleep. Dorian tiptoed in and stood looking about.
"Yes; it's Carlia's birthday; we're just taking a walk by the canal to see the water; my, but it's nice!" "What, the party or the water?" "Why, the water." "Both" added another. "We've all told who we're going to marry," remarked a little rosy-faced miss, "all but Carlia, an' she won't tell." "Well, but perhaps Carlia don't know. You wouldn't have her tell a fib, would you?"
"But what shall we do, Dorian, what shall we do! She may be dead, lying dead somewhere!" "I hardly think that," he tried to comfort her. "She'll turn up again. Carlia's well able to take care of herself." The father came in. He told what had been done to try to find the missing girl. Not a word had they heard, not a clue or a trace had been discovered.
In the dim consciousness of waking he seemed to hear Carlia's voice calling to him as it did that winter night when he had left her, not heeding. The call thrilled his very heart again: "Dorian, Dorian, come back come back!" The second week in December Dorian went into action in search of Carlia Duke.
He was out of the house, and nearly running along the road. Dorian found Carlia's father and mother under great mental strain. "We're so glad you came," they said; "we're sure you can help her." "What is the matter!" "We hardly know. We don't understand. This afternoon that Mr. Jack Lamont you remember him he used to come here.
He glimpsed the shadowy specter lurking in her background. And yet, as he fixed his eyes on the heavens, his mind cleared, his purpose strengthened. As he turned, there was a grim smile on his face. He walked back to the fire-place and seated himself on the arm of Carlia's chair. "Carlia," he said, "I may be stupid I am stupid I've always been stupid with you. I know it. I confess it to you.
Carlia's cheeks glowed redder than ever in contact with the keen winter air. They walked on in silence for a time. "Say, Dorian, why do you not go and see Mildred?" asked Carlia, not looking at him, but rather at the eastern mountains. "Why? Is she not well?" "She is never well now. She looks bad to me." "When did you see her?" "Last Saturday.
Mother has come out of the cabin, and I think she is looking for us. Supper must be ready." He took Carlia's hand and helped her up. Then they ran like care-free children down the gentler slopes. "Wait a minute," cried Carlia, "I'm out of breath. I I want to ask you another question." "Ask a hundred."
That I have failed with you is evidence that I am not so perfect as you say. But now, let's forget everything else but the fact that we love each other. Can't we be happy in that?" The roses faded from Carlia's cheeks, though coaxed to stay by the firelight. "My dear," he continued, "we'll go home, and I'll try to make up to you my failings. I think I can do that, Carlia, when you become my wife."
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