BERNARDINE BEGINS HER BOOK

AFTER the announcement of Mrs. Allitsen’s death, Bernardine lived in a misery of suspense. Every day she scanned the obituary, fearing to find the record of another death, fearing and yet wishing to know. The Disagreeable Man had yearned for his freedom these many years, and now he was at liberty to do what he chose with his poor life. It was of no value to him. Many a time she sat and shuddered. Many a time she began to write to him. Then she remembered that after all he had cared nothing for her companionship. He would not wish to hear from her. And besides, what had she to say to him?

A feeling of desolation came over her. It was not enough for her to take care of the old man who was drawing nearer to her every day; nor was it enough for her to dust the books, and serve any chance customers who might look in. In the midst of her trouble she remembered some of her old ambitions; and she turned to them for comfort as we turn to old friends.

“I will try to begin my book,” she said to herself. “If I can only get interested in it, I shall forget my anxiety!”

But the love of her work had left her. Bernardine fretted. She sat in the old bookshop, her pen unused, her paper uncovered. She was very miserable.

Then one evening when she was feeling that it was of no use trying to force herself to begin her book, she took her pen suddenly, and wrote the following prologue.