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Updated: June 3, 2025
I waited a moment, then withdrew to my own desk. One minute, two minutes passed in silence; he was evidently rereading the letter; then he hurriedly rose and left the room. As he passed me I caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror. The expression I saw there did not tend to lessen the hope that was rising in my breast.
He sat like one paralysed, his eyes reading and rereading the words which changed to mockery all the revived faith in her. His brain grew numb. Like a man upon whose head an unexpected blow had fallen, he was only half conscious of what had happened. Even as he read and re-read the letter he failed to gather all that it meant, all that it revealed. The very simplicity of the situation stunned him.
On the very day of the visit of Francis Bacon to the Panchronicon, the two sisters were sitting together in their bed-room. Rebecca was at her knitting by the window and Phoebe was rereading a letter for the twentieth time, smiling now and then as she read. "'Pears to amuse ye some," said Rebecca, dryly, looking into her sister's rosy face. "How'd it come?
Conseil added. "But does this mean the old boy goes ashore?" Ned Land went on. "That seems to be the gist of it," I said, rereading the letter. "Well, we've got to accept!" the Canadian answered. "Once we're on solid ground, we'll figure out a course of action. Besides, it wouldn't pain me to eat a couple slices of fresh venison!"
On reading and rereading it the fine lines on his forehead, that would some day deepen into wrinkles, became quite pronounced and a look of displeasure darkened his face. Something was wrong with Jack, a slight change that defied analysis. Their souls were out of tune. It might only be a passing disturbance; perhaps it was his own fault. It pained him, nevertheless.
From this moment he never rested, giving himself up completely to the investigation of his case, searching his notes, rereading his books. And he studied himself, watching the least of his sensations, to deduce from them the facts on which he might judge himself.
"It's a letter," he exclaimed, wonderingly, and he hastened to light the lamp. "Oh!" he cried, breathlessly, as he saw the bold, firm handwriting. "It's from the bishop." His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shining and his fingers fairly shaking with excitement as he held the letter carefully in his hands, reading and rereading the address. "THEODORE BRYAN, Care of MRS. MARTIN."
My first religious address, "The Prince of Peace," was the outgrowth of a chance rereading of a passage in Isaiah. This I have referred to in my lecture entitled "His Government and Peace." I was preparing an address for the celebration of the Tercentenary of the King James' Translation when, on the train, I turned by chance to Elijah's challenge to the prophets of Baal.
"Say, Tom, that IS tough, having your meteorite thrown overboard!" exclaimed Ned, rereading the message. "All your work wasted and your marvelous invention junked " "Not yet!" broke in the young scientist grimly as he grabbed the telephone from his desk. "Hello, operator, get me long distance, please." "What are you going to do?" asked Ned excitedly. "Get divers," replied Tom as he waited.
In the left wing of the fortress, near the hospital quarters, was the single, small bedroom which the three American nurses shared. Once before Nona had discovered Barbara Meade rereading one of Dick Thornton's letters and giving way to the blues in their small, cold chamber. This evening she made the discovery a second time.
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