The Prince George's enquirer and southern Maryland advertiser. (Upper Marlborough, Md.) 1882-1925, 1896-03-13

This ended this days record. TIL,
old man lifted his eyes and murmured
"And twenty-five years have gone J"
He was shaking from head to foot
now with a sort Of supersti+ious fear
and he no longer tritled with his con
science. GLOW true his words were,
he said, and yet, at the time, | tancied
that | had done no uncommon thing
He started up and looked around
fancying he heard noise. A draught
of air swept up though a Granny in
the floor and fiuttered the leaves of his
book. Even at this he started. Then
with another harsh laugh, he called
himselfa coward and went on with his
reading. The next few leaves con-
tanned only dry records of the action
of the stock market and he passed
them quickly. Suddenly he gave a
great start and read aloud:
April l3: Tonight bad thing hap
dened. He shot and killed his wife
and then committed suicide.
"He," muttered the old man, "that
means Robert Trent and he shud-
dered. Was it fancy or echo? The
words seemed to come back to him in
another voice from corner of the
room. The lamp had gone low and he
was seized with a great shivering as he
rose and peered into each corner. En-
cept for the rats he was alone. Again
he went back to his book and read:
| have decided to have nothing on
my conscience, although even now /
| know / am free from blame. | will
send the child away to be educated.
He shall go though college, if he cares
to, but he shall never know who is his
benefactor. The papers have called me
a benevolent gentleman. | will prove
my title. All the arrangements have
been made He is to be reared in a pri-
vate school and when old enough shall
go to college. The money has al
ready been paid into the hands of a
trustee. A pity that so much money
should go for-but | will have clear
conscience. Now, my work is done.
He closed the book and wiped the
perspiration from his brow. At the
same instant the mysterious voice
again sounded in his ears-again it
sounded the name of Robert Trent.
He shook from head to foot and dread
of horrible evil seized him. He sank
into his chair and buried his face into
his hands as if to shut out some fearful
sight-he, who had never before known
a moments weakness. He distinctly
heard a low muttering of vague, mean
ingless sounds, ever and anon pune
uated by one sharp, clear sound that
assumed shape and Conference.-The
sound of a name that made his very
marrow cold, coming as it did from the
silence of a quarter of Il century to re-
proach him in his lonely home-the
name of Robert Trent. He could not
lift his eyes. Fear, abject fear, had
complete control bin. The lamp
flickered and went out Braith was
not superstitious, but the dread which
hung over him could not be shaken off.
The bare old room seemed to him peo-
pied with Il wretched, wicked past.
1t came to him with full force now,
and he acknowledged in his inmost
heart that it had been wretched and
wicked and that he bore on his soul
the stains of murder.
For an instant the thought of the
child came to him and he wondered
what had become Of it-of the boy for
whose education he had paid in fit Of
unwontoned generosity, and whose tu-
tors he had forbidden to communicate
with him from that time on. The
thought of the child touched a cord in
him for an in tant, but only for an i'll
stant, for suddenly his fear came back
to him with redoubled force. He held
his hands tight over his face, but an
unseen and resistless force tugged at
them. Struggling from his chair he
gained his feet, still with his eyes
shielded from something-he knew not
what-that seemed to be there wait
ing to meet his eyes. Then all at once
the power of resistance left him, his