Since that time his search had been mostly of an aimless character, which, as we have already stated, could be productive of no definite results.
The missionary had become, in a degree, resigned to his fate; and yet, properly speaking, he could not be said to be resigned, for he was not yet convinced that she was entirely lost to him.

All traces of the strange hunter seemed irrecoverably gone, but Richter still devoutly believed the providence of God would adjust everything in due time.

It is true, at seasons, he was filled with doubt and misgiving; but his profession, his devotedness to his work, brought him in such close communion with his divine Master that he trusted fully in his providences.
On this summer afternoon, thoughts of his wife and of the strange hunter occupied his mind more exclusively than they had for a year past.

So constant and preoccupying, indeed, were they, that he once or twice believed he was on the eve of learning something regarding her.

While engaged in reading, the figures of his wife and the hunter would obtrude themselves; he found it impossible to dismiss them, so he had laid down the book and gone off into this absorbing reverie.
An additional fear or presentiment at times haunted the mind of the missionary.