The Republican., 1889-11-30

pleasant brings you here as waiter at
a California seaside hotel in the dead
season.
Drink" was the laconic reply.
"Ah, the old story" said.
"No," he replied, in quite a spirited
manner; 'by no means the old story"
what is it, then?" persisted.
Don't ask me, please" he pleaded,
and in the mirror, which was at the foot
of the table, 1 saw that his eyes were
drawn down as if in pain, and that his
huge mouth was all of a tremble.
| l was interested, 1 must confess, but,
at the same time, I was also little cha
grined to think that might possibly be
allowing smart impostor to play upon
my feelings. 1 therefore shrugged my
shoulders with gesture that meant
something near disgust. He was quick
to read the sign.
"Don't think am attempting to ex-
cuse myself or impose on you, SIR" he
said; ''let me come to your room this
evening" shall not make the privilege
an excuse for the least attempt at inti-
macy, strand shall be able to explain
myself fully"
1 hesitated moment and then con-
sented.
| ! was sitting out on sthe balcony
smoking cigar, listening to the sop
slop of the Pacific on the sands and watch
ing the fog-bank slowly settling down
over Point Iona, when he raped at
my door. He had exchanged his walters
togs for loose suit of tweed, and the
| change of attire was much to the ad-
vantage of his appearance, though moth
ing could soften the shocking character
of his face. He asked permission to
bring another chair outside my window,
and then, having lit cigar, he spoke as
follows:
Il need not go over the story of who
am, or tell you what my real name is,
sir. You know all that is necessary on
those points, and all that you would care
to know 1t will be enough for me to as
sure you that am an English gentle
man, born and bred, and to repeat that
l owe my present debased condition to
| drink. Yet ] am not drunkard by
choice, or by vicious inclinations, but
one made so by a hideous fate. Don't
smile, sir, for it's the Gods truth I'm
telling you.
Il was not always the abominable-
looking creature l am now, although
was never more than passably cookbook
| ing. Up to my twentieth year l had
never tasted spirits, although our family
table had always been provided with
wine, and my dear father invariably
drank toddy before going to bed. One
night, it was in the long vacation, was
sitting with him in the library when
the servant brought in the decanter and
hot water. AS she set them down on
the table, an agonizing sense of fear
came over me, then a numbness and
the feeling that l was turned to ice.
The coldness seemed to come from with
| out rather than from within me, and
| glancing shiveringly around to see if the
window was open, l saw behind my
chair the figure of one draped in flow
ing white garments, and having face
of such unutterable stoniness that my
heart stood still at the very sight.
| knew this to be the Angel of Death,
and felt that l was summoned. But
there was worse fate for me, sir. Seiz-
ing my shaking hand in his, the angel
thrust it forward until it lay upon my
fathers heart, and then there came the
tumultuous sound of many voices within
me, and one came rushing up and cried:
You die where you sit And as cried,
my fathers eyes seemed to start from
their sockets, he gave groan, stiffened,
and was dead. AS he died, the numb
i loft h,t hn foar nd
reaching out, l seized the decanter,
drained it and tumbled forward in fit.
''From that time on felt myself ac-
cursed, and passed the next few months
in series of drunken eXcesses. Then
there came great longing to tell some
one the story of what had gone through.
This lasted for weeks, and at last gave
my sister my fatal confidence. We were
walking in the garden, and after much
nervous hesitation, began my dreadful
story. had but commenced when the
warm sun seemed to have suddenly dis
appeared, and an icy wind swept across
the tulip bed and blasted the flowers as
though they had been struck by frost.
Ny sister shivered and cried as though
in pain, upon which put my arms about
her and asked in Gods name what was
the matter? On the instant of my doing
SO, felt two icy arms enfold me, and
over my shoulder was thrust the stony
face of the Angel of Death. The mortal
numbness once more seized me and was
again transmitted to another, for as l
held my sister she sighed but once and
died"
He was silent for moment, and glanc-
ing at him with not the most comforta-
BILE feelings in the world, could see by
the light which came through the open
window that he had covered his eyes
with his hand.
did not know what to say; indeed,
the whole story seemed so outrageous,
yet so full of circumstances, that hes
itated showing that 1 either rejected or
accepted it. AS the best thing under
the circumstances, therefore, 1 said moth
ing.
He went on without taking down his
hand. SIT was neart-disease in both
cases, they said," ne continued, "and it
was proved to every ones satisfaction,
except mine, that the malady was in the
family. OF course, knew better, and