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Updated: June 3, 2025
Then she knew the feeling of the loneliness and solitude of the hills. Then she knew the sweetness of the murmur of falling water, the wind in the pines, the song of birds, the white radiance of the stars, the break of day and its gold-flushed close. But she had not yet divined their meaning. It was not all love for Glenn Kilbourne.
She watched him cross the road, face the house. How changed! No this was not Glenn Kilbourne. This was a bronzed man, wide of shoulder, roughly garbed, heavy limbed, quite different from the Glenn she remembered. He mounted the porch steps. And Carley, still unseen herself, saw his face. Yes Glenn! Hot blood seemed to be tingling liberated in her veins.
"By the way, did you meet Glenn Kilbourne in France?" "Not that I remember," rejoined Burton, as he got up, rising rather stiffly by aid of his cane. "I must go, Miss Burch. Really I can't thank you enough. And I'll never forget it." "Will you write me how you are getting along?" asked Carley, offering her hand. "Yes." Carley moved with him out into the hall and to the door.
You're American, too, Lee, and you trained to be a soldier, and you would have made a grand one if I know old Arizona. But you were not called to France.... Glenn Kilbourne went. God only knows what that means. But he went. And there's the difference. I saw the wreck of him. I did a little to save his life and his mind.
Good-bye," she said, and turned her back upon him, not deigning to watch him go. "Do you go or stay?" her brother asked, when he came in from the bank that afternoon. "I go!" she said, but not with her usual bright promptness; and, looking at her face across their little tea-table, he saw that it had lost something of its usual serenity. "Seen Kilbourne?" he asked.
So Glenn Kilbourne loomed heroically in Carley's transfigured sight. He was one of Carley's battle-scarred warriors. Out of his travail he had climbed on stepping-stones of his dead self. Resurgam! That had been his unquenchable cry. Who had heard it?
The earliest mention of this locality is when one Godwyn, a hermit, retired here in the reign of Henry I., and "built a cell near a little rivulet, called in different records Cuneburne, Keelebourne, Coldbourne, and Kilbourne, on a site surrounded with wood."
"Bryant told me he looked as if he were afraid," he said. "What beasts people are to say such things!" she burst out. "And of such a man! The gentlest, the kindest " "I know, my dear. I'm sorry for poor old Kilbourne. I daresay he didn't kill his wife; but something's happened to him, and she did die uncommonly sudden.
And how she had stood spellbound, enveloped in the mighty volume of sound no longer discordant, but full of great, pregnant melody, until the white ball burst upon the tower of the Times Building, showing the bright figures 1919. The new year had not been many minutes old when Glenn Kilbourne had told her he was going West to try to recover his health.
"Why not give up ideals and be like the rest of my kind?" she soliloquized. That was one of the things which seemed wrong with modern life. She thrust the thought from her with passionate scorn. If poor, broken, ruined Glenn Kilbourne could cling to an ideal and fight for it, could not she, who had all the world esteemed worth while, be woman enough to do the same?
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