Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1893-10-22

crOWQ, tnen uarkonoui ulosous AeSsonS~
upon one face.
One FACET seemed to leap up from
the sea OF other faces to meet him, the
eyes strained, piteoHs, dark with an ar
raignment, challenge.
Toms jaded heart suddenly livened
with an awful fear. But he did not
pause. The streets swayed around him
as he walked on. Once be turned as II
to glance at some flowers at florists
shop, and he saw the pale lamplignt
and the gray dusk casting weird radi-
auce over the face. He was being fol-
lowed. He seemed to hear those dog
ging steps above the multitude OF foot
falls on every side.
A hansom stood idle at corner. He
sprang into it, telling the man 10 drive
fast, and sank back. feeling bewildered,
stunned, sick.
Felix Dawson, the man he had de-
frauded. was alive.
1t had been so easy for Tom with the
comfortable suppIeDess Of his nature to
assume that this mans long silence had
meant his death and gradually to as
simulate this superstition until it became
q surety. He had never realized the
enormity Of his act before. Felix Daw-
son had been but shadowy memory to
him, a name. He had taken his play,
and by a tortuous, sophistical vein OF
reasoning this fact had grown to seem
scarcely worse than If he had only de-
stroyed 1t, since no one was injured.
1t was different now that he knew
Felix Dawson was not dead-no longer
a memory, but 8 man, following him,
his heart fred by this wrong; q man
with eyes to scorch and voice to be
raised In condemnation; an opponent to
face, to fear.
His coming meant ruin, disgrace be-
fore the world, but it meant also a sud-
den, sickening awakening to the nature
and consequences OF his act, a shame
and hatred Of himself. He was thief
In the commonest sense.
When the horse was pulled up at the
curb before his door, 1t was almost a
shock. He had been sitting upright, his
hands grasping the apron Of the han
som, looking straight ahead, but blind,
not even aware that 1t had commenced
to rain.
Delatoe called to him as he went
down the hall. He paid no heed, and
entering his study flung himself into a
chair. His face was cammy and wan.
Something must be done. What
could he say when Felix Dawson faced
him? What defense could he make?
That he was coming he was absolutely
sure. He must be near now. Perhaps
in five minutes he would cross the
threshold. Suppose Deatole heard
him? Suppose the blow fell that af-
ternoon?
He sat absolutely still, his eyes fixed
upon the door, his veins holding fluid,
icy terror instead OF blood.
At last to his intense relief, Delatole
thrust in his head, saying:
care you going to dine hereP Well,
I'll be back in time to have demitasse
with you. want to see you. Don't
go out"
The danger of betrayal over for the
moment, Tom breathed more freely.
he crossed to the window and flung 1t
up, letting the rain dash upon his face.
The chaos in mis- brain was rent sud
denly by one contentious thought:
This man you dread has no proof. !"
No proof. The words rang in his
brain. the denuded trees cresked them,
the wind laughed in glee.
"Defy him. Defeat him. he is
powerless. You are strong"
The bell In the passage gave whis-
pering tinkle. Tom turned, scarcely
surprised. The moment had come.
"Mr. Murray, sir, gentleman TO see
you" said the English valet.
"Show him in here, II any one else
comes, I'm out. Remember"
He was lighting cigar with an affec-
tation of carelessness, his back TO the
door as the visitor entered. In realty
his muscles were braced to a painful
rightly, his face was greenish white.
He was prepared to deny the charge
absolutely, to decry the man as mad.
"No proof No copy. No eye saw
you. 1t is your word against his,f
Braced by logged, paSsionless as
surance in the stability OF the lie on
which he had surely bulded, he looked
Felix Dawson in the eyes, and then his
plan Of defense shriveled, his heart
melted within MIN Tor very PITY. ms
was not an accuser come to demand
Justice. This was man in whom the
fires Of life had died. His eyes were
graves of dead illusions. So might one
look who had parted with hope and
stood with outstretched empty hands,
crying to fate, in tones Of imbittered
triumph:
pass by me now. Leave me free.
You have taken ALL"
"You remember me?" And his quiet
voice was peculiarly sad and strong.
Tom stood like one arraigned before
a superior, judge.
a Ives, do"
y "a long time ago left play with
you. This afternoon 1 saw it acted at
Palliser's theatre, your name on the
programme as it's author"