I read a strange story, but its contents seemed so true to life. It related the incident of a criminal who had made an escape from a prison--not for freedom, but to get away for only an hour, that he might find a cat, or a dog, or something, that he could love. It seems he had been an author, and by chance came upon a woman--during the time of his escape--who permitted him to love her, and during the short recess, to her he recited a poem entitled, "The right to love." The words of that poem burned in my mind. "Love is only where is reply, I speak, you answer; There am I, And that is life everlasting." "Love lives, to seek reply. I speak, no answer; Then I die, To seek reincarnation." As the cold days and long nights passed slowly by, and I cared for the stock and held down my wife's claim, the title of that story evolved in my mind, and I would repeat it until it seemed to drive me near insanity. I sought consolation in hope, and the winter days passed at last; but I continued to hope until I had grown to feel that when I saw my wife and called to her name, she would hear me and see the longing in my heart and soul; then would come the day of redemption. CHAPTER XLIII "AND SATAN CAME ALSO." Came a day when the snow had disappeared; my threshing was done; I had money again, and to Chicago I journeyed. During the winter I had planned a way to get to see my wife, and took the first step toward carrying it out, immediately following my arrival in the city. I went to a telephone and called up Mrs. Ewis. She recognized my voice and knew what I had come for. She said: "I am so glad I was near the phone when you called up, because your father-in-law is in the house this very minute." On hearing this I was taken aback, for it had not occurred to me that he might be in the city. As the realization that he was, became clear to me, I felt ill at ease, and asked how he came to be in the city at that time. "Well," and from her tone I could see that she was also disturbed--"you see tomorrow is election and yesterday was Easter, so he came home to vote, and be here Easter, at the same time. Now, let me think a moment," she said nervously. Finally she called: "Oscar, I tell you what I will do, P.H. is sick and the Reverend has been here every day to see him." Here she paused again, then went on: "I will try to get him to go home, but he stays late. However, you call up in about an hour, and if he is still here, I'll say 'this is the wrong number, see?'" "Yes," I said gratefully, and hung up the receiver. I had by this time become so nervous that I trembled, and then went down into Custom House place--I had talked from the Polk Street station--and took a couple of drinks to try to get steady. In an hour and a half I called up again and it was the "wrong number," so I went out south and called on a young railroad man and his wife, by the name of Lilis, who were friends of Orlean's and mine.