Evening star., 1899-06-10

had shut that door behind him. but the
large crowd that in the halls and on the
steps of the building awaited his
appearance showed that the public In
terest was still warm In a matter af-
fecting so deeply the heart and inter-
ests of their best citizen. When, therefore,
that long-closed door finally opened and
Frederick seen escorting Mr. Suther-
land on his arm the tide of feeling which
had not yet subsided since Agathas letters
were read vented itself in great sob
of relief. For Mr. Sutherland's face was
calmer than they had last seen it and his
step more assured, and he leaned made
himself lean Fredericks If to
impress upon all who saw them that the
ties of years cannot be shaken off easily
and that he still looked upon Frederick
his son.
But he was rot contented with this dumb
show eloquent as 1t was. AS the crowd
parted and these two imposing figures took
their way down the steps to the carriage
which had been sent for them Mr.. Suther-
land cast one deep. long glance about him
on faces he knew and faces he did not
know. on those who were near and those
who Were far ard, raising his voice, which
did not tremble much might have been
expected. said deliberately:
My son accompanies me to his home. If
he should afterward be wanted he will be
found at his own firesde Good day, my
friends. l thank you for the good will you
have this day shown us both
Then he entered the carriage.
his head in acknowledgment of this public
recognition of the hold he still retained On
this one faithful heart struck awe into the
hearts of all who saw it. so that the car
riage rolled off in silence. closing one of the
most thrilling and impressive scenes ever
witnessed in that time-worn village.
CHAPTER xXXV.
But alas, all tides have their ebb as we'll
as flow, and before Mr.. Sutherland and
Frederick we'll nj he
the latter became aware that notwithstand-
ing the respect with which his explanations
had been received by the jury. there were
many of his fellow townsmen who were
ready to show dissatisfaction at his being
allowed to return in freedom to that home
where he had still every prospect of being
called the young master Doubt, that seed
of ramifying growth, had been planted in
more than one breast and while it failed
as yet to break out into any open mani
festatiOn, there We're evidences enough in
the very restraint visible in such groups of
people as they passed that suspicion had
not been suppressed or his innocence eStab-
lished by the Over-favorable verdict OF the
cOrOner's jury.
To Mr. Sutherland. suffering now from
the reaction following all great efforts,
much. II not all, of this quiet but significant
display of pubic feeling passed unnoticed.
But to Frederick. alive TO the least look,
the least sign that his story had not been
accepted unques.iOned. this passage through
the town was the occasion Of the most
poignant suffering.
For not only did these marks of public
suspicion bespeak possible arraignmert in
the future. but through them it became evil
dent that even if he escaped open cOndem-
nation in the courts. he could never hope
for complete reinstatement before the world
nor. what was to him still deeper source
OF despair, anticipate a day when Agnes
love and domestic happiness should make
his more than wayward youth. He could
never marry pure a being while the
shadow of crime separated him from the
mass Of human beings. Her belief in his
innocence and the exact truth Of his story
(and he was confident she did believe him)
could make no difference in this conclusion.
While he was regarded openly or in dark
corners or beside the humblest flreside as
a possible criminal neither Mr.. Sutherland
nor her father, nor his own heart even.
would allow him to offer her anything but
friends gratitude or win from her any
thing but neighbor's sympathy; yet in
bidding goodbye to larger hopes and more
importunate desires he parted with the bet
ter part of his heart, and the only solace
remaining in this world for the boundless
griefs and tragic experiences of his still
young life. He hal learned to love through
suffering. only TO realize that the very ma
ture Of his suffering forbade him to indulge
in love.
And this seemed, even in this hour of
public justification. final Judgment. He
had told his story and been for the moment
believed. but what was there in his life,
what was there in the facts as witnessed
by others. what was there in his mothers
letters and the revelation or their secret
relationship to corroborate his assertions
or to prove that her hand, and not his. had
held the weapon when the life blood gushed
from her devoted breast? Nothing, moth
ing: only his word to stand against all
human probabilities and natural inference;
only his word and the generous nature Of
the great-hearted woman who had thus
perished, Though a dozen of mis- fellcw
citizens had by their verdict professed their
belief in his word and given him the heneht
of doubt involving his life as well as his
honor he, as well as they, knew that
neither the police nor the general public
were given to sentimentalty, and that the
question Of his guilt still lay open and must
remain so till his dying day; for from the
nature of things no proof Of the truth was
probable. Batsy being dead, only God and
his own heart could know that the facts
them.
Had God In His justice removed IN this
striking way his only witness, as punish
ment for his sins and his mad indulgence in
acts so little short of crime as to partake
of its guilt and merit its obloquy?
He was asking himself this question as
he bent to fasten the gate. HIS father had
passed in, the carriage had driven on and
the road was almost solitary, but not quite.
Ae he leaned his arm over the gate ana
turned to take a final glance down the hill
I side he saw, with what feelings no one Will
ever know. the light figure of Agnes ad-
vancing on the arm of her father.
He would have drawn back. but better
impulse interviewed, and he stood his
ground. Mr.. Halliday, who walked very
close to Agnes, cast her an admonitory
| glance. which Frederick was not slow in
! Interpreting, then stopped reluctantly, per-
| haps because he knew that an interview
, between these two was unavoidable and
| had best be quickly over.
Frederick found his voice first.
agnes" said he. 81 am glad of this op-
| portun!ty for expressing my gratitude.
| You have acted like a friend and have
| earned my eternal consideration. Even if
| we never speak again.
There was momentary silence. Her
I heart, which had dropped under his greet
! ing, rose again. Her eyes, humid with
| feeling sought his face.
Why do you speak like that?" said she.
| why shouldn't we meet? Does not every
| one recognize your innocence, and will not
| the whole world soon see. as 1 have that
| you have left the old life behind and have
| only to be your new self to win every ones
| regard?"
| Agnes" returned Frederick. smiling
! sadly as he observed the sudden alarm vis-
| bic in her fathers face at these enthusiast