He had come to Clifton at the earnest solicitation of some of his friends, who had for themselves tested the healing properties of the water, but he had little faith that anything could cure so long as the pain was so heavy at his heart.  It had not lessened one jot with the lapse of years.  On the contrary, it seemed harder and harder to bear, as the months went by and brought no news of Ethie.  Oh, how he wanted her back again, even if she came as willful and imperious as she used to be at times, when the high spirit was roused to its utmost, and even if she had no love for him, as she had once averred.  He could make her love him now, he said:  he knew just where he had erred; and many a time in dreams he had strained the wayward Ethie to his bosom in the fond caress which from its very force should impart to her some faint sensation of joy.  He had stroked her beautiful brown hair, and caressed her smooth round cheek, and pressed her little hands, and made her listen to him till the dark eyes flashed into his own with something of the tenderness he felt for her.  Then, with a start, he had awakened to find it all a dream, and only darkness around him.  Ethie was not there.  The arms which had held her so lovingly were empty.  The pillow where her dear head had lain was untouched, and he was alone as of old.  Even that handsome house he had built for her had ceased to interest him, for Ethie did not come back to enjoy it.  She would never come now, he said, and he built many fancies as to what her end had been, and where her grave could be.  Here at Clifton he had thought of her continually, but not that she was alive.  Andy’s faith in her return was as strong as ever, but Richard’s had all died out.  Ethie was dead, and when asked by Dr. Hayes if he had a wife, he answered sadly: 

“I had one, but I lost her.”

He had no thought of deception, or how soon the story would circulate through the house that he was a widower, and so he, as ex-governor of Iowa, and a man just in his prime, became an object of speculative interest to every marriageable woman there.  He had no thought, no care for the ladies, though for the Miss Bigelow, whom his boots annoyed, he did feel a passing interest, and Ethie, whose ears seemed doubly sharp, heard him in his closet adjusting the thin-soled slippers, which made no sound upon the carpet.  She heard him, too, as he moved his water pitcher, and knew he was doing it so quietly for her.  The idea of being cared for by him, even if he did not know who she was, was very soothing and pleasant, and she fell into a quiet sleep, which lasted several hours, while Richard, on the other side of the wall, scarcely moved, so fearful was he of worrying the young lady.