The San Francisco call., 1905-01-08

shrinking gesture Of fear and agony.
His palsied arms, shaking and uncer-
tain. wavered before his face. A
shrek came from his lips. but this
time not the monotonous, wordless
wall Of his habit, but an articulate cry.
My God! My head. don't strike me
again!"
Maxwell dinly heard the sobbing
cry with which the sisters arms went
round the covering, abject figure, and
the lawyers abrupt ejaculation of as
ton1shment and reinsurance, as he
rushed to the door and flung himself
out in the frosty evening His breath
was coming heavily and his fingers
worked nervOuSly in and out of
clenched fists, and, as the sky opened
before him, vision hurled itself with
the appalling directness Of a thunder
bolt before hin-a vision of an acre OF
bloody, trampled sward, iron-sown,
and blue with pungent wreaths of
smoke. In the foreground a disman-
tied gun prone upon whose stock a
figure lay with blackened face and
tattered gray uniform, and over it a
second figure swinging dubbed mus
ket, remorseleSS, cruel with the lust of
war. The crest of that spattered knoll
strewn with quiet forms-these two
alone, fiercely erect. Then the clubbed
weapon descended. From the limp fig
ure stretched across the gun rose two
protesting arms-two hazel eyes looked
from beneath the bloody mat of hair.
and voice shrill and terrifying: My
God! My head! don't strike mo
again!"
The vision blurred, gusts OF smoke
came in between. Did the blue figure
strike again? Did it? Did it?
Maxwell threw his hands toward
kA sr~I1A r-I~-
that quick rise of condemnation and
died again, as though appealing and
inviting doom. The vision had scarce
faded into the dun of the early night
sky when the lawyer came down the
steps; 1t was as though he had ap-
preached, black-robed and grotesque,
from the corner of the dimming pic
ture-a vengeance witnessing and i'm
peaching. binding him, Brent Maxwell.
of that savage battery charge, to the
Brent Maxwell of this day, a strong
man flying from the piteous pallor of
a shrunken and deranged wreck.
The one upon whom this sudden
panic of soul had crashed like a fall
ing tower gripped him fiercely by the |
arms. THE man in there" he said,
hoarsely, the man with the blue face
and yellow eyes-the man that looked
at mel Did you see him look at me?''
The other shrank back half fear
fully. why, Maxwell he said,
whats the matter? 1t was merely
a fit of some sort. 1 thought you
knew he was crazy. Why, man, you're
shaking! Come along and We'll get
something to warm us up"
Did you see him put up his
hands?"
The lawyer drew away his arm
almost angrily. "Heavens" ne said
You're almost as bad as the old man
himself. He's crazy, I tell you
plumb crazy. and has been ever since
they brought him home from the war.
He was struck in the head by a shell
or something"
Yes, yes. Where? Where was it?
What battle was it ?"
i've always heard 1t was at Mis-
sionary Ridge" The match he struck
against his boot heel burned, sput-
tering, as he bit the end from a cigar.
Maxwell suddenly drew from his
pocket the packet Of papers; the
parchment cracked as he reached for
ward and held a curling corner to
the flame. 1t caught and licked about
it. While the lawyer stood In amaze,
around his head until it scorched his
fingers. As he dropped 1t to the
ground, q mass Of slowly blackenine
embers, white shadow sprang out OF
the surrounding circle of blackness.
1t was Miss Anne.
Miss Anne" cried the lawyer, do
you see what he's doing7 He's burned
up the mortgagei He's burned II upi
That's all that's left Of 1t there on the
ground"
Miss Anne stepped forward half-fear-
fully, her fascinated eyes on the glow
ing frebrand between them. She
clasped her hands together. Sir" she
said painfully, "sir''-then she stopped.
An overmastering desire seized him
to take upon himself the act Of that
dead day-to shout to them both that
he. he had been asked mercy and had
denied 1t. 1t was the right Of war, but
now, after all these years. 1t had re-
coiled upon him in shame. Circum-
stances had again put in his hand tho
weapon; the lust Of acquisition called
upon him to strike, but as he stood
face to face with this new victim out OF
that red mist OF the stained past that
cry had sounded. and his hand dropped
nerveless before the same helpless. ac-
cusing eyes. He would have shouted
that II was not charity, not kindness,
that spared that roof. but self-accusa-
tion-a yearning for atonement and for
absolution.
He received her tears Of gratitude
with a sense Of shame upon his soul, and