As Helen had
told the Interpreter, the doctors were agreed that her father must give
up everything in the nature of business and have absolute mental rest.
The Mill owner must retire.
Retire! Retire to what?
The world of literature--of history and romance, of poetry and the
lives of men--the world of art, with its magic of color and form--the
world of music, with its power to rest the weary souls of men--the
world of nature, that with its myriad interests lay about him on every
side--the world of true friendships, with their inspiring sympathies
and unselfish love--in these worlds there is no place for Adam Wards.
Retire! Retire to what?
* * * * *
One afternoon, a few days after her visit to the Interpreter, Helen sat
with a book in a little vine-covered arbor, in a secluded part of the
grounds, some distance from the house. She had been in the quiet
retreat an hour, perhaps, when her attention was attracted by the sound
of some one approaching. Through a tiny opening in the lattice and vine
wall she saw her father.
Adam Ward apparently was on his way to the very spot his daughter had
chosen, and the young woman smiled to herself as she pictured his
finding her there. But a moment before the seemingly inevitable
discovery, the man turned aside to a rustic seat in the shade of a
great tree not far away.
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