Waterbury evening Democrat., 1908-09-28

ana pardon. Hugl had often played
 to her, lightly, carelessly, as he did all
 things. She had deemed it only one of 1 his many clever amateurish accom-
 plishments. Now it struck her with a ! pang that there had been in him a
 deeper side that she had not guessed
 Since her wedding day she had
 thought of her marriage as loathed
 bond, from which hts false pretense
 had absolved her. Now doubt of her
 own position assailed her. Had lone
 liness and outlawry driven him into
 the career that had made him stunned i even in this rough town, course
 which she, had she been faithful to l her VOW flor better, for worse" might
 have turned to his redemption? God
 forgavs, but she had not forgiven.
 Smarting tears scorched her eyelids. For Harry Sanderson the music was
 the imprisoned memory, crying out
 strongly in the first tongue it had
 found. The slumbering qualities that
 had stirred uneasily at sight of the
 face on the balcony awoke. Who he
 was and had been he knew no more
 than before, but the new writhing self consciousness, starting from it's sleep
 with almost sense of shock, became conscious of the gaping crowd, the dusty street, the red sunset and of himself at the end of vulgar brawl saving violin in silly braggadocio in hotel doorway.
 The music faltered and broke of. The bow dropped at his feet. He picked it up fumblingly and turned back into the office as man entered from a rear door. The newcomer was Michael Halloran, the hotels proprie- tor, short, thickset and surly. Asleep in his room he had neither seen the fracas nor heard the playing. He saw instantly, however, that something un- usual was forward and, blinking on the threshold, caught sight of the man who was handing the violin back to its owner. He clinched his fist, with scowl, and started toward him.
 His wife caught his arm.
 "Oh, Michael, Michael" she cried Say nothing. lad! Ye should have heard him play"
 Play" he exclaimed. Let him go fiddle to his side partner. Prendergast, and the other riffraff he's run with the year past" He turned blackly to Har ". Take yourself from this house, Hugh Stires." he said. Whether all's true that's said of you I don't say, but you'll not come here"'
 Harry had turned very white. With the spoken name-a name how familiar! his eyes had fallen to the ring on his finger-the ring with the initials H. S. A sudden comprehension had darted to his mind X score of circumstances baleful light The looks of dislike in the barroom. the attitude of the street. this angry diatribe, all smacked of ac- quaintance, and not alone acquaint- ance, but obloquy. His name was Hugh Stires. He belonged to this very town. And he was man hated. de- spised, forbidden entrance to an un- couth hostelry. an unwelcome visitant even in a barroom He turned to Eel der and said in low voice to him, not to the hotel keeper or to the room full:
 When I entered this town today 1 did not know my name or that I had ever set foot in 1t before. I was struck by train month ago and remember nothing beyond that time. It seems that the town knows me better than l know myself"
 He turned quietly and walked out of the door, Pavement and street were hubbub of excited talk The groups parted as he came out. and he passed between them with eyes straight be- fore him. |
 As he turned down the street frag | ment of quartz thrown with deliberate I and venomous aim few from the sa- loon doorway It grazed his head. i knocking of his hat.
 Tom Fielder had seen the flying mis- | sile. and he leaped to the center of the street with rage in his heart. If l fnd out who threw that" he said. 'I'll send him ID for if, so help me God." |
 Harry stopped and picked up his hat md as he put 1t on again turned toward the crowd. Then he i walked on down the middle of the l street. his eyes glaring. his face white. nto the dusky blue of the falling twf- fight