Waterbury evening Democrat., 1894-05-23

will tell you everythlngP but In reality
the presumable villain opened his un
blanched lips to say in an entirely steady
voice:
"Sir, you see here man who for years
and years has been struggling in the face
of great and insurmountable odds, and
who has made failure of the struggle.
do not know what you mean, but you
evidently desire to institute legal pro-
ceedings of some nature against me.
You have my full and free permission sc
to do. If lam accused Of anything, care
not what in the category of crimes, from
petty larceny to murder, shall not take
the trouble to deny it. When this man
brought me to your door, I was wonder
ing if it were possible for Providence SO
far to have relented toward me as to be
opening for me means of honest and
manly employment. I came here as a
last effort in that direction. With the
result of this experiment. in mind, I
shall never try it again. No, sir. Do
what you please with me. will employ
no counsel. Twill make no defense. The
law may take it's course. The remainder
of my life, the manner of my death, is a
matter of total Indifference to me. "
The voice had still it's theatrical ring,
but underneath it all there was grim
ness and sincerity that carried with it
the conviction that he meant what he
said When the amazed Maxey could
speak, he exclaimed:
$50 you confess your share in the
crime without equivocation?''
"Sir, can only confess the truth, but
as I am not man of veracity that
would have little weight. If you have
any evidence at all of any wrong dealing
ON my part, an ignorant and uncultivated
jury would undoubtedly do your work
and convict me of anything. 1 look like
a villain. have all the suspicious and
unexplainable habits of villain. Twelve
average men would say at once: He is
villain. Let US punish him. "
"And you haven't a shadow of sus-
picion of what you wOuld be accused?''
''Sir, of what use is it to question me?
If say no, you will not believe me. If
I say yes, should only lay myself open
to further questions, which it would be
| impossible for me to answer, and then
| you would not believe me. In any case
I should be liar and an equivocator i'll
your eyes. The shortest way is to call
the police at once. Sir, | have used al
cohol very freely of late years, and it
| has partially succeeded in achieving the
result to secure which | learned to like
tin bunting my senses and brutaliz-
ing my intellect, but have yet remain
ing to me, 1 think 1 may say without
exaggeration, sufficient penetration and
sagacity to understand that a gentleman
| like yourself does not take such pains to
become possessed of the person of So
cial outcast like myself unless he be-
lieves such a step of supreme impor-
lance. Doubtless you have your theo-
| RESP
| DOUBTLESS I have. You have parried
my question very ingeniously, Mr.. Dye.
Let me see what you will say to the
next. You spoke of the truth in the
matter What is the truth?''
"Sir, will answer you unreservedly.
connect my presence here not without
some degree of naturalness, you must
admit, to the interest you take i'll the
young lady whom 1 have reared as my
daughter. While can have no idea of
what your suspicious are or of what you
would convict me, inasmuch as you
| SPEAK VI Cllc DOllCc L 1illGI lllttG IL ultlSC
be something of a criminal nature The
truth in relation to that matter is An
nette is not my child, and l have no
claim or authority over her, [ never
| even legally adopted her. If she has
| borne my name, it was because my late
| wife wished it for the child's own sake.
| She believed that it would be humiliat-
| ing for the child to be brought up in the
! knowledge that she had no name; that
| she was in truth a waif whose parent
| age was unknown would have given
| much if the name we gave her had been
| worth more for her own sake, but it was
| the best that we could do under the cir
| cumStanceS -
"Who We're Annette's parents?'
"God knows"
<'And you?'
'Sir, I am not in his confidence. :"
"You talk that way and expect me to
| believe you'll
"Sir, on the contrary, | do not Nci-
Their do wish to be understood as in
dulging i'll profane levity. Ihave the ut
most respect for the Deity. He has, he
| can have none for me.
Maxey was astounded. 1t was not
dlOIlC lIlc COOlIlCSo VI lIlG llItIll, DuU tllC
sincerity and despair with which he
| seemed to speak. In spite Of himself, the
artist began to believe him. For a mo-
ment he could not regain courage enough
! to return to the attack. Mr.. Dye lifted
| his faded eyes inquiringly from tho con-
| temptation of his hat
"You don't believe me?" he said.
cit seems hardly possible -
'Sir, it is the truth. For myself l
would not take the trouble to speak For
her sake I will say to you that 1 take my
| oath before Almighty God, as hope for
mercy in the world to come, that do
not know who her parents were. y
He said this solemnly and impressive
| ". 1t produced profound effect OIL
NIaxey. who had never drifted away
from the religious teaching Of his youth.
| The name of the Deity was 4 very solemn
thing in his eyes He could not under
stand why it should not be in the eyes
of all men. Nevertheless he mustered
up courage to renew the battle.
eff this be true, why then did you
appear SO excited ON the night when you
put this child into your wifes arms?
Why did you plead with her so earnestly
never to reveal that the child was not
your own? Why did you even say that
if the truth were known it might bring
you to the gallows?''
Surprises like this may startle the
calmness of effrontery, but there are
few surprises sufficiently strong to over
come the calmness of despair. Mr.. Dye
was utterly unmoved. He replied in his
somberest tones:
"Sir, you must be aware that the
moribund when approaching dissolution
enters frequently into a stage of hallu-
cination. The mind wanders. If it were
worth while to defend myself, I should
say that my poor wife was not herself;
| that che oyaUOarafad -