Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1909-12-02

n OF his children whom he loved
had left him after she had told him
that she was ashamed of her father.
She became lost among the hundreds
OF others pure of heart, unselfish OF
purpose and deep of feeling like her
self.
Over his desk hung her picture.
Her eyes looked reproachfully down
on him. Right under her b%eseeching
eyes, nay, in defiance of them. he
wrote his clever, cold, lying articles.
And yet Aladjev felt that there was
more holy truth in one of her mis-
takes than in all his cold calculations.
Insomnia tortured him; in his sleep
less nights he could not drive away
the all-pervading dread of death.
The stiffness of the night spoke to
him in mystic dreams. The figure of
his sorrowing daughter gave battle to
his agony in loving kindness.
He feared solitude. Late at night,
when he did his work, all the deep
shadows seemed to become alive.
His dreams were heavy. He stood
before the judgment seat and could
not justify himself. Unknown shades,
covered with blood, AFFECT in their
despair, passed before him accusingly
and their number did not end. II
know them not" he said. II did not
hate them; If l have harmed them
~ bod ~ he hooa,,oa a. moe IN mN
advantage" Their number increased
continually, they grew up like a wall
between him and the Judge, they
reached out after him, showed him
their wounds-and, in nameless dread,
he crawled out of his bed, shaking in
every joint.
The first report of the massacres
reached the editorial rooms. His CO.
workers talked subdued, in whispers.
Aladjev said nothing. He wrote
an editorial In his usual manner. He
said a few words of regret and
then he tried to show how unavoid-
able, how inevitable, how almost
necessary were these events He
made use of a knavish trick. The
massacres were not, he argued, the
result of deliberate Indictment; no, on
the contrary, the massacres proved
how Justified had been the cam
paign of Indictment. He was pleased
by the thought that he did not in
cite the riots.
He ate his dinner with relish and
was in good humor. He went to
the theater to see a French farce,
fingered at supper, and came home
late, a little tired, but pleasantly agi-
tated. On his dressingn-table was the
oblong envelope; this time it had a
wide black border.
$50 you are mourning for the vic
Tins Of the ~massacre!" he exclaimed,
sneeringly. He placed the letter with
out opening 1t under his pillow, and
Immediately fell asleep.
He awoke suddenly. He did not
know what had happened. Icy dread
was strangling him by the throat
The black border of the letter stood
in front Of him and gripped his chest
A terrible pain had made him
insensible. Soon he began to comprer
bend. Yes, that was it. Why had
he put the letter under his pillow? II
was the black border which had ter
rorized him. Suddenly he saw clearly
Those hateful letters we're the dread
full shadows which tortured him. II
he could but get rid Of them all would
be well, the shadows would disappear,
and his soul would find peace. He
arose from his bed and, without put
ting on any garment, he tiptoed into
his working room. The full moor
flooded the room with pale light. He
opened the drawer. There were the
letters. There were many, many O.
them. He took them out one by one
read each, and threw it away. But thu
more he threw away, the more re
NAMED. Everything was Uttered will
them-the floor, the chairs, the couch
the tables. He hurried in fear, TO,
these yellowed sheets whispered be
hind his back-he was afraid to turf
around-they conspired against him
They flew around like a flock Of whit,
birds, and touched him with thei
wings. He drove them away, but the.
surrounded him in W. narrowing cir
Giles, thier number grew and grew
they slapped his face with their wings
and every movement Of their hisse'
the one word, "Scoundrel."
And suddenly the circle opened
What was this? The letter with til,
black border stood in front Of him
The double sheet opened and begal
to compress, to break his breast. N,
help, no salvation? He wanted to or,
out; his weak groan was lost in tn
Joyous t1appings of uncounted whit
wings. In despair he looked up to tn
picture. She alone would plead 70
him--she alone could save him.
The picture was no longer there. H
himself had removed 1t yesterday t
escape the everlasting reproach q
those mournful eyes. With a will
cry he threw himself against tn
black-bordered letter.
In the editorial rooms the nigh
force had heard the shrek. The
fastened into Aledjev's room. The
found him atop Of a heap Of letters
his face distorted with horror. A fe,
weak signs of life remained in hin
They laid him on the couch. Everyon
had picked up instinctively one of tn
letters. The solemn silence aroun
the dying man was broken by a sui
dued whisper. As they looked at tn
letter each IN pronounced In an iii
dertone the one word, "Scoundrei."