The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1895-09-08
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY SEPTEMBER J. 1885,


out with horrible incongruity-the one
by reason of the tragedy OF guilt and
/ terror Il expressed. the other In the tragedy
Of force ard passion chained
CrOuched down in the chair in which
/ he had lung himself, his head hidden on
I his arms, his aspect covering and de-
/ graded. was Edmund Sartorys- over him,
! haggard. ashen. and immovable stood
l Alan Durant
I You want your life" ne said in a meas
ured voice which. in its deadly quiet, was
! like the voice Of fate itself. 1T IS mine,
and you know it. Pay me for it. Tell me
! the truth"
a shudder ran through the wretched
heap in the chair, and then sudden spas
I modic impulse TO bravado seemed TO seize
i Edmund Sartorys. and he lifted his head
/ and tried TO stagger TO his feet
Pay your he said. with an uncertain,
l OverdOne sneer on the pronoun, looking
/ at the other with wild, shifting, blood
shot eyes from which no effort Of his own
| could drive the half delirious terror Pay
/ you, What have you to do with it?''
4 Alan Durant made him no answer he
simply looked him in the face And the
/ other continued with travesty Of bull
I lying. clustering demeanOr which grew
more CHASTITY in its unreality with every
| exaggerated word.
What can you prove? Come now-what
can you prove. old boy. I-don't see
where you-cOme in, you know!
A horrible sound which he intended for
q laugh broke from him, and then quite
suddenly all his bravado seemed to shrivel
up, and leave him a dreadful prey to ter
rOr and his guilt. He fell back into the
chair, and lifted his arms as though to
shut out the sight of Alan Durant's face.
Mercy he muttered, hoarsely. 'Durant
for Gods sake-mercy!"
Tell NET
"She was my wifew
A cry broke from Alan Durant-a cry,
which threatened to break down his
strength OF self-contrOl once and for all.
He mastered himself again, however,
with a power which only the exhalta-
ton Of long and terrible strain could have
given him. There was a moment of death
like stiffness, and then he said one word,
"When?"
Crouched face downwards in the chair.
sartorys answered him in hoarse, broken
words.
THAT spring. She stayed-in Yorkshire
and saw her every day. I-she-we were
married"
over the face of Alan Durant there
passed a look of agony, which changed it
as not even passion could have done.
'Married"' he muttered, hoarsey. My
Ellie married, and not a word to me! Oh,
Ellie! Elliei
"I-dont know why-I married her. It
was a good impulse, and-not in my line
l made her promise not to tell until
came. 1 meant to come-I meant it butt
was a poor, devil-awfully poor-and-I
met the Forsyths. The old man wished it
Brenda was-ready-there was money
lots of money"
Sartorys stopped, and there was a sound
as though he tried in vain to moisten his
dry mouth and tongue. The agony had
passed from Alan Durant's face leaving
1t almost impressive with the rigid grip
in, he haH
from far away, he seemed to hear the
words; Go on" He hardly realized that
he had spoken them but Sartorys obeyed
them.
Il knew-she was alone. 1 came-at
night. told her" his voice broke off as
though his tongue refused to frame the
words, and the reslstless voice reiterated
the words Go on
Il never meant 10 hurt her! Never. be-
fore God l told her" Again the voice
died, but he recovered it and went on
speaking, thick and low. II told her-I
had-deceived her! 1 told her-there was
no marriagei She chung to mel couldn't
get away from-she talked of you, and
Silencel Silence, heavy. and awful, in
which the man who stood erect and mo-
tionless seemed to be battling for life
itself with the deadly impulse that pos
sessed him-battling to conquer, to crush
IL down and make of IL an added strength.
GO ON
II carried her into the road. I thought
they would say it was a tramp l took
the pearls-for that. got away from the
accursed place"
And then a sudden frenzy of impotent
fury and despair seemed to seize him
why did / come back?" he cried. why
did l come back2 There was nothing but
marriage with Brenda, marriage with her
at once, between me and ruin, and l risk
ed IL, fool that was. Durant! his voice
rose into a shrek, and he flung himself
at the other mans feet "Durant! you
promised Youll let me gol Youll let me
go! My life! My lifel You promised me
my lifer'
There was a pause-a pause which
neither man ever measured as Alan Du-
rant looked down al the figure a his feet.
Take it," he said a last. Take it and
/ GO" He strobe forward as he spoke, open
| ed the door of the room, and stood with
it in his hand, waiting. The guilty man,
as though impelIed by a force against
which he was powerless. raised himself,
/ staggered toward him across the room
| and followed him as he moved down the
| hall and opened the front door without a
word. without a word Sartorys passed
him and went out into the gray dawn of
| day.
The rising sun of the same day woke
| into moving, murmurng life, the birds.
the trees. the flowers, and touched with
| dazzling solemnity the solitary majesty
! of the cold, white statue. 1t touched with
a solemnity more awful still a figure lying
on the grass before it in a stiffness and
| GOODNESS like it's own. In the midst of the
softly moving life around, in that last
motionlessness that. nothing can change.
or stir. Edmund Sartorys lay face down.
ward, dead. And above him, untouched
and unmoved, terrible in the majesty of
her appeal. rose the figure of the yelled
woman, with her right hand raised to the
,unchanging heavens above.
Magma est veritas ct precaletit."
The End
Southern Beauty.
From the New York Tribune.