The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1902-12-09
A Knaye Of
Conscience
By FRANCIS LYNDE.
(Copyrigh hi 1900. by Francis Lynde.)
CHAPTER XxX-CoNr1N11rn

CHAPTER XXX.-CoNT1NUED
Andrew Galbraith was silent on the
short run before the gale to the pier
head at the foot of Main street. For
one thing, he was not a man of many
words; and for another, he was
chilled through and thoroughly un-
comfortable.
None the less, he made shift to
thank his rescuers in fitting phrase
at the point of debarkation, and to
Intimate, as a gentleman might, that
his gratitude would wait upon a fit
ting opportunity to take more sub
stantial form. Charlotte offered to
walk home, that Griswold might see
Mr.. Galbraith safe to his hotel, but
this the old man would by no means
permit.
INA, na," he said, relapsing, as he
did now and then, into the Scottish
mother-tongue. I'm wet as any
drowned rat, but I'm not that badly
flashed. Take the Teddy home, Mr..
Griswold, and do you two be seeing
after yourselves. You're as wet as
i am"
Accordingly, Griswold accompanied
Charlotte to her own gate, and then
went home to change his clothes.
just what he meant to do afterwards
was not very clearly defined, but dur
ing the changing interval he made up
his mind with sudden determination.
Whatever should come of it, the
thing for which all other things must
No H. =
the parting of the ways; he knew, as
he might have known from the mo-
ment of love-making on the Belle
Julie" that life without Charlotte to
share it with him would henceforth
DE no more than a shadow of the
real.
He had a good excuse for going
straight away back to DR.. Farnham's.
The very least he could do would be
to call and ask if she had come
through the adventure with no worse
consequence than a shock and wet
ting. And yet, when he had let him
self out of Mrs. Holcomb's gate he
did not go directly to the house on
the lakes edge. Instead, he made a
long detour, walking aimlessly and
deeply buried in thought. This thing
which he was about to do was not
to be done lightly. So far from it,
the more he pondered over it the
more he realized that it was likely
to prove the turning point in his life.
Now, that he gave himself the back
ward glance which he had steadily
refused since the morning of the
Bayou bank incident to take, he saw
that he had been living tentatively;
passing from day to day as one who
waits upon the event of the day;
looking neither backward nor for
ward. Though he had worked faith
fully, doing the thing that lay next
TO his land, he knew now that his
work, on his book or in the office
with Raymer, had been purely ex-
trinsic to any well-considered future
But now the future demanded
thoughtful consideration-woul have
it, whether or no; and, as was in
evitable, the past colored every fore
casting picture.
For one thing, he had come to that
stone of stumbling which he had
touching his future relations with
Charlotte. Without being unduly be-
sotted, the hope that he should not
plead with her in vain was almost an
assurance. If he could gain his own
consent to let the past lie buried il,
oblivion, the vista of the future
opened out before him with all the
barriers to happiness brushed aside
And yet, try as he might to resolve
to hold his peace touching the past
he could not bring himself to the
point of taking her conscience un.
.awares. He was far enough from
realizing that his own conscience was
Interposing this obstacle He
thought, when he allowed himself tic
think in that direction, that he had
settled the conscientious scruples for
himself once and for all. Neverthe-
less, there had been moments, brief
Heeting moments, for the most part
when he would have given the rever-
sion of years of life to be as he had
been before the pistol-drawing Incl
dent in Andrew Galbraith's private
office. But these little upfashes OF
remorse had been but match flares,
going out in a sudden Whit of the
wind of fnality. For the thing was
done irrevocabIy and could never be
nndone.
In the aimless detour which led
/. him from street to street and finally