The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1893-10-20


1t was now early in December. The
theaters had just deluged Broadway
with thousands of matinee goers. The
evening was slushy, the air damp and
warm. Rose leaf tipts flecked the smoky
vapor of the sky. AT the perspective of
the crowded street, crawling like a
luminous cleft between vast masses of
rock, the humidity had heaped itself in
to low hanging pink cloud.
Tom came out of the stage entrance,
paused to light cigar and strolled to-
ward Broadway. He had not risen
until 3 o'clock The day was just begin
ming for him. His face had the opaque
whiteness debauchery leaves, and warm
though it was the occasional dabs of
damp air struck through him, carrying
depressing chill.
AS he turned the corner the currents
of people eddicd around him. His wan
dering glance alighted with butterfly
swiftness on the triles that sway a
crowd, then darkened, dilated, fastened
upon one face.
One FACET seemed to leap up from
the sea of other faces to meet him, the
eyes strained, piteous, dark with an ar
raignment, a 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 he turned as if
to glance at some flowers in a florists
shop, and he saw the pale lamplight and
the gray dusk casting a weird radiance
over the face. He was. being followed.
He seemed to hear those logging steps
above the multitude of footballs on
every side.
A hanson stood idle at a corner. He
sprang into it, telling the man to 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 suppleness of his nature to
assume that this mans long silence had
meant his death and gradually to as
simulate this supposition until it became
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 tortuous, sophistical vein of
reasoning this fact had grown to seem
scarcely worse than if he had only de-
stroyed it, since no one was injured.
1t was so different now that he knew
Felix Dawson was not dead-no longer
memcqy, but man, following him, his
heart fEed by this wrong; 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 sud-
zen. sickening awakening to the nature
and consequences of his act, shame
and hatred of himself. He was thief
in the commonest sense.
When the horse was pulled up at the
curb before his door, it was almost a
shock. He had been sitting upright, his
hands grasping the apron of the hanson,
looking straight ahead, but blind, not
even aware that it had commenced to
| rain.
Delatole 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 clammy and wan.
Something must be done. What?
What could he say when Felix Dawson
faced him? What defense could be
make? That he was coming he was alb
solutely sure. He must be near now.
Perhaps in five minutes he would cross
The threshold. Suppose Delatole heard
him. Suppose the blow fell that after
Joon.
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:
"Are you going to dine here? Well,
III be back in time to have q demi.
tasse with you. 1 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 il
up, letting the rain dash upon his face
The chaos in his brain was rent sud.
denly by one sententious thought:
"This man you dread has no proof"
No proof. The words sang in hi.
brain, the denuded trees creaked them
the wind laughed in glee.
"Defy him. Defeat him. He ispower
less. 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. If any one else
comes, I'm ont. Remember"
He was lighting a cigar with an affec
tation Of carelessness, his back to the
door as the visitor entered. In realit,
his muscles were braced to a painful
rigidity, his face was greenish white
He was prepared to deny the charge alb
solutely, to decry the man as mad.
mo proof. No copy. No eye saw
you. 1t is your word against his"
Braced by a logged, passionless as
surance in the stability of the lie OF
which he had surely builded, he looked
Felix Dawson in the eyes, and then hi
plan of defense shriveled, his hear
melted within him for very pity. Thii
was not an accuser come to demand jus
tice. This was a man in whom the fire.
of life had died. His eyes were graves