Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1908-07-03

the Brooklyn pier followed; also a por-
ton of Nicholas Stembridge's police rec
| ori The conservative, character of the
paper in which the foregoing appeared
| led Breen to believe that the account
| which had fallen into Mrs. Stansbury's
hand might be considerably more emblaz-
oned and embellished. His first thought
was that he had become a source of hor-
ror to the women, and that he must put
| himself out of their sight.
Breen was not constituencies man. A
fatalist, spendthrift, power that prey
ed upon the powers that prey, polished
| reveller-all these he might be, but his
blood was clean from the faint of person
al treachery. He had come to like Con-
stable. The friendship was guileless. He
| had even thought, with trace of humor
IN certain moments, that it was worth
being called back from the Brooklyn pier
for such large and clear emotion. 1t
is possible that he had never in his life
been troubled as now, having brought a
vital hurt to the man he wished only to
serve. His face showed nothing not even
the heat of the day, as he left the house.
His own body had felt all, even the
moral dissolution which crawls into the
brain to prepare a place for the sinister
guest, suicide. The law of cause and eff
feet, unable to find any hold upon him
self nor inspire any fear this side of
death, had linked him with another, and
made that other suffer through him.
Breen was smitten with the ugliest pun
ishment that clean fiber is given to writhe
beneath-that of seeing a friend beaten
to the ground by the rebounding voley
of ones own sins.
Half way down the Morne dOrange
he saw Constable's launch turn shoreward
from the ship. Constable was probably
aboard. Breen wasn't ready yet to meet
the man he had hurt. He must think
Moreover, by no means did he ignore the
possibility of the Panther bringing one
of his logical enemies, nor was he ready
to face an accumulation of consequences
in the shape of man hunter. He turn
ed to the right at the base of the morne,
and made his way up one of the winding
paths to the terraced streets. That his
steps led him to the fruit shop, where he
had planned not to go again, seemed now
but a paltry addition to the incubus
which had so suddenly possessed him.
At the first terrace he turned and star
ed back through the smoke. The launch
had just touched the pier at the Sugar
Landing. The tall figure of Constable
stepped forth and fastened to the car
riage which was driven rapidly toward
the morne, Breen smiled, because it was
easier for him to smile than to cry for
mercy. Constable was being driven swift
ly to the plantation house, where he
would find the ugly work that had been
done there. Mrs. Stansbury would not
board a ship that had been a thief's
refuge.
Rue de Rivoli was white and empty.
The door of the shop was shut but not
locked, and the little round window dark
ened with a cloth. Breen entered, slam
ming the door quickly, to keep out the
hot, poisoned air of the street. The dark
shop was as empty of humans as the
thoroughfare, but quick step sounded in
the rear. Pere Rabeaut entered from the
ash-quilted court.
"What a day, M. Breen The birds
are dead and dying. Soronia is i'll unto
death"
'Soronia ill" Breen said under his
breath.
The old man FASTENED away. At the
rear doorway, Soronia pushed by him.
Her hair was unfastened, and the loose
white garment that she wore was open at
the throat. The father stared as if she
were a specter. His lips moved, and he
turned suddenly to the man standing In
front of the shop. She moved toward
fhe American
Her eyes aroused him. The darkness
had no power to divest them Of express
sion, for the passions were burning there
fear lest this was not flesh which filled
her gaze; ecstasy in that he was there at
all, in life or death or dream. His act Of
yesterday had wrought the CHASTITY pallor;
the deathly illness was heart-starvation.
She touched his shoulder and his cheek
with chilling hands, there fell from her
lips strange, low words of no language
that he knew. Suddenly she caught his
hand to her breast, whispering that she
had feared she was dreaming.
"What were you dreaming, little one"
he questioned.
II thought was dying when I heard
your voice. You said-you said you
would come no more"
but did not come, little fairy? Who
could remain away from your"
She seized his face in her cold hands,
whispering, "Do you mean that you will
stay?"
(TTo ho continued \