Waterbury evening Democrat., 1895-03-02

him silently and waved him away. His brain was painfully alert, his memory singularly awake. It seemed that the in- cident of this hour had so opened up every channel of his intelligence that all his life ran past him in fantastic panorama, as by that illumination which comes to the drowning man. He seemed under some strange spell Once or twice he rose, rubbed his eyes and looked round the room-the room where, us a boy, he had spent idle hours, where, as a student, he had been in the hands of his tutor, and as a young man had found recreations such as belong to ambitious and ardent youth. Every corner was fa, miliar. Nothing was changed. The books upon the shelves were as they were placed 20 years ago. And yet he did not seem part of it. It did not seem natural to him. He was in an at mosphere of strangeness-that atmos- | phere which surrounds a man, as by 0 | cloud, when some crisis comes upon him, and his life seems to stand still, whirling upon its narrow base, while the world appears at an interminable distance, even as to deaf man who sees, | yet cannot hear
 There came home to him at that mo- ment, with 0 force indescrihable, the shamelessness of the act he committed four years ago. He had thought to come back to miserable humiliation. For four years he had refused to do his duty as a man toward an innocent woman, a woman, though in part a savage, now transformed into gentle, noble creature of delight and goodness. How had he deserved it? He had sown the storm; it was but just that he should reap the whirlwind. He had scattered missiles; could he expect to gather grapes? He knew that the sympathy of all his fla ther's house was not with him, but with the woman he had wronged. He was glad it was so.
 Looking back now, it seemed so poor and paltry thing that he, a man. should stoop to revenge himself upon those who had given him birth as a kind of insult to the woman who had lightly set him aside and should use for that purpose helpless confiding girl. To revenge ones self for wrong to one's $ self is but a common passion, which has little dignity; to avenge some one whom one has loved, man or woman and before all, woman-has some touch of nobility, is redeemed by loyalty. Fol his act there was not one word of de, fense to be made, and he was not pre- pared to make it.
 The cigars and liquors were beside him, but he did not touch them. He seemed very far away from the ordinary details of his life. He knew he had be fore him hard travel, and he was mol confident of the end. He could not tel how long he sat there After time tho ticking of the clock seemed painfully loud to him. Now and again he heard cab rattling through the square, anG the foolish song of some drunken loiterel in the night caused him to start pain fully. Everything jared on him. Onc' he got up, went to the window anC looked out The moon was shining ful
 on the square. He wondered if it would be we'll for him to go out and find som' quiet to his nerves in walking. He diC SO Out ill the square he looked up tt his wife's window It was lighted
 Long time he walked up and down, hi
 eyes on the window. It held him like charm. Once he leaned against the iroI railings of the garden and looked up
 not moving for time. Presently h. saw the curtain of the window raised
 and against the dim light of the room
 was outlined the figure of his wife. H.
 knew it. She stood for moment look
 ing ont inGo tho night. She could no
 see him, nor could he see her feature
 at all plainly, but he knew that she like him, was alone with the catastroph which his wickedness had sent upol
 her. Soon the curtain was drawn dowI again, and then he went once more t. the house and took his old seat besid
 the table He fell to breeding and a
 last, exhausted, dropped into a trouble sleep.
 He woke with start. Some one WI . in the room. He heard step behin
 him. He came to his feet quickly,
 wild light in bis eyes. He faced h brother Richard.
 Late in the afternoon Marion hs telegraphed to Richard that Frank W; , coming He had been away visitir
 some poor and sick people, and when came back to Greyhope it was too la , to catch the train But the horses wo } harnessed straightway, and he VI driven ints town-a three hours driv
 He had left the horses at the stables, ar having latchkey had come in quietl He had seen the light in the study aL