Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1873-07-18


Pshaw, friend, put up your purse. You're
welcome 10 IL rs gill;"
And he was gone, plunging through the
high grass and bushes, all frinaed with
scarlet cardinal flowers and nodding mari
Colds, before Israel could stay him.
Israel Esmayne crept back to his house,
or, rather, the rude log-cabin which is a
sort of hostage that one day real home
should riso on its foundations, holding the
fiat bottle close to him, and glancing round
with furtive, wandering eyes.
"I needed it," he said to himself; "yes, /
needed it. didn't know how much until
l tasted it. Just one more taste. 1t slips
over ones palate like glass, so smooth, so
rich, so full Of strength. One more taste,
and then"
When the clock struck nine the whistle
of the way train sounded faint and far off,
and Israel Esmayne rose uncertainty to
his feet. The subtle, burning fumes of the
liquid flame, had entered into his brain
the walls seemed TO reel about him, the
stars TO swim in the great blue firma
ment overhead. Nothing was real-all
was faint and far off and visionary. But
| :
and Israel had gone out at nine O'Clock
every night for year. Cropping his way,
and walking with slow, unsteady steps, he
went, still clasping the partially emptied
flask 10 his breast in the inner pocket Of his
coat.
He could hear the rush of the river be-
low he could see the rails of the track
glistening in the faint starlight; and me-
chanically feeling under q cluster of spice
bushes for the switch key, he knelt down
down and stupidity fumbled there an in
stant.
"The way lrain," he muttered to himself.
"Irs all right And then the freigh. train
half past nine-a quarter TO ten; and"
lie stopped down to the river-shore and
wet his burned forehead with the cool
drops he could scoop up in the hollow of
his hand. He sat down on fallen tree,
and let his head fall on his palms.
"Am I-drunk ?" he muttered, half
aloud. 40 God have I come to this in
spite of everything?"
And the memory of Dorothy Beers and
his sacred promise to her rose up in his
mind, as one sometimes remembers prom
ises made 10 the dead. In all the wild,
wide, reelng, rocking world of his brain
there was but one certainty. He had lost
Dorothy, his soft-stepping, sweet-eyed, re-
| deeming angel--the one in all the world
who loved and trusted him most implicit
ly.
81 don't deserve her." Re thought, scarce
| able to shape definite thought in his chaotic
mind; but-but if I had only fallen down
dead before-before I had touched that ac-
| cursed stuff! She would have believed in
me then"
The fresh cool night air on his brow was
SOLDERING him little; the touch of the
| cold river water cleared the mists Of his
| clouded brain in some degree. He rose
up, steadying himself by the slender stem
of young white birch tree that grew close
| beside him, and looked around.
Hark A clear whistle, half mile
away, cleaving the silence like the call of
some sweet-throated bird.
1t was the express, whose plume of lurid
| smoke spanned half a continent-the long
serpent like train, glittering with lights,
and carrying a great eye of fire in front,
| which nightly thundered over the rails,
| and shot like meteor out of sight into the
hush and silence of the woods, Westward
bound.
The way train passed at nine, making
brief stoppage at Hursley station beyond,
| mere wooden shed with a platform on
either side. Half an hour afterward a slow
and heavy freight train followed it, run
ming off on a side track toward the river
| shore until the express should have safely
passed. And it was the especial business
| of Israel Esmayne TO set the switch for the
| freight, and subsequently replace it for the
hurrying express.
Had he done this =?
With an awful doubt poisoning his heart,
| he pressed his hands TO his temples and
| tried TO think. He had been there's he could
recall Just how the dewey rails looked, wet
and glistenng in the starlight. He had
had the switch key in his hand-that he
| could also remember. But was that before
or after the freight had switched off? He
could not remember whether the freight
had passed or not. He did not know
| whether he had locked the switches twice
| or once, or, good Heavens not at all. The
past was a swaying vacuum, the future
strange and dream-like. He closed his
| eyes, he pressed his temples as if either
| hand had been wise of iron, in the wild
agonizing effort to recall the last half hour.
40 God p he groaned aloud, as he threw
| hi mself on his face i'm the wet grass, sam
& ding mad? ?"
Something hard struck his breast bone
as he flung himself down: it was the fatal
flask. He tore it ont half full of dark red
poison, and dashed it passionatoly into the
bushes. 1t was that--that that had done
all the mischief
80 Heavenly fatherv T. he cried aloud, in
his great anguish, "if 1t please thee TO avert
from me this awful crime of murder done
a thousandfold-an naught but one of thy
miracles can avert it now-I swear before
Thy pavement of stars to touch that DEVILS
broth no more! o God, hear me! o
Christ, save me y
The earth beneath his grovellng breast
thrilled and quiyered as the express train
flew over the rails, and Israel Esmayne
held his breath, momentarly expecting the
awful crash which should stain his soul
with the eternal brand of Cain.
Hush An owl hooting afar off In the
woods, the cry of some sad-voiced night
bird overhead, and then-another whistle,
clear and CHEEKY. The express had passed
through Hurstley-passed through safe and
sound And Israel Esmayne, staggering
to his feet, gazed around him an instant,
clutchng vaguely at the air, and then fell
unconscious.
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