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THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE
den, along a wall, to the entrance, well known in earlier years. But before his ready hand could touch the latch his eyes sought the window, and then he stopped, motionless, rigid, as if touched by some powerful, mystic spell.
The sight that met his gaze was one to make angels weep.
A genial fire blazed on the hearth, and there, in the warm glow, sat Philip, with a babe upon his knee. Over them stooped a young girl, fairhaired and lovely, an image of the Annie who had sat in the leafy hollow of the hazel wood. On the other side of the hearth was Annie herself, sweet and matronly, glancing with fond content from the crowing babe on Philip's knee to the tall, strong son who stood by her side.
It was but a glance, a momentary picture, but one that shocked and stunned this dead man come back to
fell in a heap upon the soft turf. "Oh, beloved! and hast thou, then, been false?"
For a long time he lay there si
ENOCH THINKS OF HIS EXPERIENCE ON THE LONELY ISLE
life. He staggered back, and clasped his hands tightly over his eyes, as if to shut out the dread sight.
' ' Annie ! Annie ! " he moaned, then
ENOCH SWIMMING TO THE ISLAND
lently, his breast heaving with convulsive sobs ; then an owl, hooting ominously from a distant oak, awakened him from his gloomy reverie.
Looking silently upon the burial of his hopes, Enoch Arden stood as if in some strange trance, half thought, half vision. Thru his brain ran pictures of the tiny home, the young wife he had left weeping, the babes asleep in their cradles. Then, in a flash, he seemed to behold all her years of struggle, and failure, and growing poverty, the children's need, her anguish and uncertainty. Into the picture came Philip, ever true and loyal, meaning only good to them all, lifting her burdens, bringing rest and comfort. Then his own ten weary, wasted years passed before him. He saw himself alone on a far tropical isle, under gorgeous palm trees, his companions dead and buried in the burning sands. The years crawled by while he waited, torn with anxiety, his awful solitude haunted with dreams of his fair wife and prattling babes. Again he felt the thrill when a passing ship espied his signal, and bore him homeward, broken and bowed with suffering, but full of love and hope.
Long he gazed hungrily at his sweet wife, his lovely daughter, his tall, strong son; at Philip, rich and prosperous, loving them, and supplying