The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1892-08-20

/ remember which Of them he had used
! the night before. Mechanically he put
ms hand first on one glass stopper and
then on the other. AS his hand touched
the second he gave cry-a loud. despair
/ ing cry. The stopper of the bottle con-
tanning he bottle was loose-the stopper
OF the one which held the drug he had
intended to give-the medicine-was fast
damned in the neck of the bottle. Try
as he might the Doctor could not loosen
1t with his fingers. This was clear, GER
tain evidence that he had unintention-
| ally, yet with most culpable, shocking
| careleSsness, given his patient and friend
a draught that must have killed him.
The Doctor staggered to one of the cane
bottom chairs that were in the room and
| Iell down on 1t, put his elbows on his
/ knees, and let his head fall between his
hands. He felt as if his beart would
| burst; as If tears, or a prison-anything
/ would be relief. TO think that by gross
and lneXcusabIe carelessneSS he had sent
/ TO his grave the man TO whom he was
| bound by every tie OF gratitude, to think
! that he had made that mans wife wild
! oW and his children fatherleSs, The
! thought seemed TO take from him the
power Of thinking and acting.
1nen, alter time, the idea pressed
! itself apon his mind-''Why am I sitting
here? 1t is possible that the medicine
may not have been given, and | may ar
rive IN time TO prevent its being taken.
! 1t is even barely possible that the drug
may not have acted as it usually does. ii
L We're at the hall l might be of use.n
lie sprang to his feet, rushed to the sta
/ DIes, threw the saddle on his horse with
! his own hands, swung himself ON is
| back and urged the faithful brute along
/ The SnOW-burdened road.
But before he had gone half mile he
! saw man coming toward him-a man
! whom he recognized. 1t was VIM. Dance,
| and at the sight of him the Doctors heart
sank. He could ride no further. but let
| Prince stand still while the other drew
near.
The man touched his hat. The Doctor
| looked his inquiries-he could not speak
! them.
Mrs. Ingleton sent me on, sir, to meet
| you and spare you coming out to-day, as
| she was sure You must be worn out 1t
is all over, sir. The master died last
night.''
1t seemed to Dr. Brancepeth as if his
/ heart would stop beating; a keen physi-
cal pain shot through it as the tidings
reached his ears.
! Did he get the medicine? Were you
/ III time with it?" he asked III strange,
constrained voice.
| YES, sir.''
You are sure?n
~ eS, Sir.N
=
when he took the drug-after the time
! you got back, let us say?"
! 1T might be half an hour. sir, from
/ that to an hour" answered William, after
moments rejection.
An, WE'LL" said the Doctor. turning
/ away, 1T can't be helped now-I mean,
| OF course l can't be OF any further USE
| IeIl your mistress l am much obliged
! 10 her for considerably sending TO meet
/ me-
He turned back to his own house. and
! even in the turmoil and horror Of his
thoughts he remembered that he had not
! given the Squire'S servant ANYTHING for
! his trouble. He wheeled his horse round
rather difficult operation III the snow
called after Dance, and gave him half a
/ crown. Then he turned back to his own
home.
Throughout the morning, and all
| through that day and the next, and for
| many days after, the same thoughts held
/ possession of his mind, and Were always
present with him. During his lonely
rides, by his solitary hearth, even in sick
/ rooms, he was thinking: "My hanG
! killed John Ingleton. But he might
nave died IN any case" he would answer
! to himself, and the pitiless reply came
But he might have recovered. and you
| have killed him" Then, strive as he
might against such thoughts, dreadful
! pictures would crowd into his magma
/ ton. He thought of the JOY of the dead
mans widow if her husband had recov-
! cred, and with morbid sorrow that he
! could not control, he pictured the Squire
| IN the different stages of recovery: now
/ he would have been able to sit up in his
/ room; now he might have ventured down
/ stairs, ana he might, perhaps, have been
! enjoying that sweetest of draughts to an
! invalid, breath of the pure uncontined
! air of heaven.
& jrCt ho of TO; Il, 1
be an inquest, and he lived in momenta-
ry expectation of arrest. Then he saw
that there need be no inquest if he chose
To sign the usual certificate of death:
and, after long debate with himself, he
signed it.
He forced himself to call and see the
widow and her family, but he felt that
for him to go to the funeral was impossi-
bic, so he shut himself up the day be-
lore the lnterment and pretended to be
very i'll.
After all immediate danger of detection
and punishment had gone by, he began
to torment himself in a new way. Was
it not his duty, he asked himself, to con-
Tess his fault and give himself up TO the
police! Would he not be q better and
happier man II he confessed and suffered
the penalty, than he would be ii he kept
the guilty secret in his own breast? He
haG teehng as If the crime might in
!
| have been guilty of manslaughter," he
would say to himself. at was not a pure
accident. l had no business to make up
medicine when L was half asleep. /
| ought to have reused myself | have
shed mans blood. Whose? John Iugle-
toms! The blood of my old friend-the
man who stood by me when other friends
l had none. l ought to be in prison, but
! as II Is, my punishment is Create
/ once he was actually on his way to the
! police station TO give himself up, when
| the thought of his daughter came into his
mind. If he spoke this word that he in
| tended to speak, she would be known all
! her life as the daughter OF the Doctor who
( was so many months or years in Jail for
! manslaughter. Her life would be ruined
almost before it had begun. He could
not do that.
| But he could not bear to meet any of
| the lngleton family. The very sight of
/ their black dresses made him shudder
! Mrs. Ingleton's kind, sad smile went to
/ his heart Ike knife. By degrees he be-
/ came more accustomed to the company
! OF these unhappy thoughts, but at the
/ same time he became more hard, gloomy
! and self-centered. Everybody noticed
! the change, but the Doctor took care that
no one should from any word or look OF
! his form a guess as to its cause.
CHAPTER II.
Three years went by. and time seemed
| to do little TO tighten the weight on DR..
/ Brancepeth's mind. He was apt to be
morOse, absent-minded and melancholy,
a different being from the CHEEKY old
! man he had been. The only one who
1 could win him from his melancholy hui
mors was his daughter Marjory. She had
/ been the living sunshine OF his house ever
since her return from school.
/ 1t was June evening, and the Doctor
paced impatiently up and down his din
/ lng-room, glancing now and then out of
( the window to see whether Marjory were
I COMING. She had b1pr a a tennis No ~