Waterbury evening Democrat., 1891-11-06

i. ..a.'azz ! aII can be repaired am a broken man ! in spirit and in health The last few years have been tortured as no human being ever was, I believe. 1 have been ! compelled to sit helplessly by and see fine property devoted to covering the | consequences of crime; to making good \ forgeries on my own name, against which ' could not even lift my voice in protest; to repairing losses of others by robberies and defalcations; to stopping the wheels | of justice, which if permitted to go on would have brought exposure and dis | grace, and all the while have been com pelled to sustain and conceal the knowl- edge that all this was done and brought l upon me by an ungrateful son, who'- | Death fell upon him." continued the | young man, "the moment he had con- | demned the son. To whom was this letter addressed? Crushed and agonized, the son in a frenzy sought the one to 1 whom it was written as means of prov | ing that the condemnation of the son by l the dying father was untrue. All efforts were unavailing. The fact of the con- l demnation was bruited about; it became known in the clubs; it became public property; it was published in the papers; the police undertook to bring the crimes 1 alleged against the son home to him, but they were no more successful than he was in his efforts to disprove them. His friends fell away from him; the doors of his acquaintances were closed against l him; he was cut on the streets. Efforts being made to expel him from one club. he resigned from all and fled the city, practically penniless, under an assumed name. Seeking employment in west ern city, he remained until a few days ago, when, under an impulse he could not restrain he returned to the city of his birth after eight years absence. l am he-John Dorison-disgraced by his dead father, not by himself"
 "I was sure of it; was sure of it," murmured the old man.
 "You, too," continued the young man, his voice trembling with the violence of his emotion, "you, too, friend of my father, believed and do now believe the libel my father left me as his only herit- age"
 There was something so despairing and even pathetic in the attitude and in- tensity of the young man that the spec tacles of the old gentleman became | appeal for belief in the tones of the young man. The elder read utter hope lessness in the intense dark eyes bent upon him; he saw the grief underlying the strong face which he had newly aroused was an old settled grief, not one finding expression in wild gestures and fierce words, but one that had come to abide with the young man forever, with which its possessor had become familiar as with daily companion from whom he never expected to be parted.
 The old gentleman, regarding the face of the younger closely and for the first time openly replied slowly and forcibly:
 "No; did not believe the charge when first heard it; never have believed it; do not believe itnow."
 The reply was unexpected. Dorison fell back in his chair with a gasp, staring blankly at the elder man. At the end of eight years, and for the first time, he had found one who believed him inno- cent of the charges.
 "You believe - -me-innocent-of- those-vile-charges?"
 "I do," emphatically returned the old man. When your father died 1 was absent from the city. After l returned and learned the circumstances sought you to say so and to offer my assistance
 but you had left the city"
 The young man laughed bitterly.
 "Your words, the first of belief in my innocence have ever heard, are grate ful and comforting. If your belief were based upon more substantial reasons, il would give me what 1 am now utterly without-hope. My life has been ruined oy that unfinished letter. Such is the
 only result have reached after eigh
 years of endeavor to fathom the incom prehensibility."
 "My dear young sir" said the old mar kindly, but with a tone of pain in hi voice, as he leaned forward and laid hi! hand upon the arm of the younger one
 "I can understand your bitterness. sympathize with you from the bottom O my heart. l admire you, that with tn , strong feeling you naturally have, yol have given expression to not one word o abuse of the parent who did you thi almost irreparable injury. However, i . is time for me to go to bed. Come ant see me tomorrow at my office. We vii ' talk this matter over then and see wha l can be done. Here is my card Goot night"
 oe The old man went out briskly. Dori , son remained staring at the card, whic ! bore these words, "Job Nettleman Commercial paper negotiated. Numbe - - Broad street, New York city,"
 He fell back in his chair in a confu sion of thought. Light seemed to b breaking upon his dark horizon. Woul
 the sun rise? One man believed him in nocent. It was not much, to be sure l but he could not let go the fact. @ Suddenly he was startled into COT
 sciousness of external things by cry o a mortified surprise. It came from one c V the card players:
 -f "Why, it is blood"
 CHAPTER II.