New-York tribune., 1903-07-31
CHAPTER XIX
THE INEVITABLE

THE INEVITABLE
Bradford lived stra1ge nfe-the loneliest
life, perhaps that any man can live Robinson
Crusoe on his island. was not always lonely.
Bradford was always lonely Within ten miles
of him were a million people: he spoke to FIVE
hundred every day; dozens called him Frank"
and not one knew him. The round of his days
went on mechanically as a panorama-that
childish kind rollers. which you turn with a
crank. He did what was expected of him, said
what was expected of him, so ably and so aptly
that hardly a soul in Carfax ever guessed he
had care. Amy all that wife should be-
After that outburst there was no repetition of
reproach. of course He kissed her when he
went away to the Office and when he returned
She did her wifely duties. and lived her lonely
life. like his
Sometimes, in these days, the remembrance
Of his fathers story as it had been written for
him, recurred to him with the sharpness Of a
sword This was the existence his father had
led He might have hated mis- father he thought
drearily sometimes; but he did not rather, he
pitied him. The days were long 10 Bradford.
but the routine of the Office the crowd Of little
duties kept his mind poised The nights, how
ever. frightened him, now and then. He lay
wide-eyed in the blackness. and saw
An old fashioned stone house. He asleep
there, quite alone, in upper room reached by
of a light foot on the porch below. II came
along the hall, reached the steps and stumbled;
some one fell against the door with crash.
Bradford lifting himself unsteadily upon one
elbow, cried Who's there?' but like one
expecting an answer. Quick feet scrambled, the
door hurled open; there was rush across the
room. and hands at his throat strangled,
strangled-
Again he was in that house-a house he had
never seen from the outside He was sitting in
| the upper room. Suddenly, at the sound Of a cry
without he rose and moved quickly in the dark
ness toward the door. He had forgotten the
steps, and he fell, with a sharp pain He could
not move. He heard. in the void. the howl of a
dog-the whine of deadly fear.
Now he was in the woods at night. He came
upon a clearing. Of half an acre. perhaps. lighter
by contrast with the velvet gloomy trees. AS he
stood there, he saw at his left, pair Of silent
fiery eyes, so near he might have touched them.
He fled from he did not know what. stumbling
on and on. He fell and was bruised. but he rose
and stumbled on. The night and the woods were
endless. At last, ahead Of him. he saw the line
of forest break. and knew that he was free and
safe The revulsion made him dizzy; but he
drew himself together with shout. and ran
toward the light. and came upon a clearing,
lighter by contrast with the velvet gloomy trees
Upon his left, near he might have touched
them, he saw the silent. fiery eyes.
He bit his lip till the blood choked him. and he
knew that he was awake. He remembered his
father at such times, and wondered If he were
going insane.
Amys life seemed changed less even than
Bradford's. She read and sewed and dreamed
and waited. The spring came. and turned into
summer, bringing the anniversary Of their en-
gagement, which Murdoch insisted on ceIebrat-
ing with certain festivity. But Amy had
excellent excuse. in her condition. for avoiding
company. IN June her baby would be born
Amy longed that it might be a boy. Not only
with the old craving for man child from the
Lord butt may have been-partly also be-
cause she was afraid that girl might suffer too
much She might perhaps, some time, wake to
the knowledge of life and then lose her joy in a
day. Amy used to wonder-as all women do
whether she was to live or die. There is pang
in the wonder-only dreamy hope and DREAMER
fear. She did not care for the baby with the
passionate sacrihcial love she had given her hus
band. Many woman loves her husband be-
cause he is the father Of her children Some
love their children for the fathers sake. Such
the latter are few. very few; one or two perhaps.
in the circle of our acquaintance. Amy might
have been one of those women. But now her
heart only stirred tendery when she thought OF
the life which was to come of her life. And at
length her hour upon her.
A moment. while the doctor and the nurse
were busy without. Bradford slipped into the
room Amy's eyes were shut as he looked at her,
but she seemed to know that he was there. He
bent over her, and she whispered:
You mustn't stay
Mustn't
NO. I do not want you.''
She might have struck him. and not ap-
preached that cruelty. Amy" he cried
IF you stay" she whispered. Il will speak 20
the doctor" Her husband went out softly To
the nurse he said:
My wife fancies the pain would be worse If 1
saw her suffering" The nurse. attributing the
dumb pain in his face TO sympathy. only nodded.
Hitherto Bradford had clung, in spite OF every
thing 10 the hope that his wife might be con-
vinced of his love. and come back 10 him; might
not love him. perhaps. with the flush Of joy he
had seen in her eyes when he married her, but
might love him still To cling TO that hope
longer was very hard She did not want him;
she would not let him try to comfort her. She
did not want hiua-that was It Her need Of him
was dead; he had killed 1t utterly. He knew
that and he knew that never had he loved her
and needed her as he did now. It was strange TO
him 10 think that he. Francis Bradford. the
clever man. could be helpless he was He
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