The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1909-02-13

marrow was not rom the blizzard that swept down upon him. The gaunt gray look in his face was not that of hunger or want There was fever in his brain and chill in his heart. He had forgotten Jane's trivial tragedy. His one overwhelming thought was of James Bansemer.
 The heavy ulster was unbuttoned, and the snowfakes pelted in against his neglected shirt front. A doorman call ed his attention to the oversight. He came to himself, drew the coat close about his long frame and hurried off down Fifth avenue. The storm was SC vicious that he boarded crosstown car at Forty second street. A man el- bowed him in the narrow vestfbule. He looked up and gasped aloud in sudden terror. An instant later he laughed at his fears. The man was not James Bansemer. A cold perspiration started out over his body, however. Through his brain there went racing the ever revolving cry:
 Hell come straight to me-straight to mev'
 The hour was not late, but the bliz- gard had driven the crowds from the streets Eighth avenue sidewalks were deserted except for the people who were obliged to brave the storm. AS broom hurried south to his lodgings he became possessed of racking belief that some one was following close upon his heels some one who was rushing up to deal him murderous blow in the back. The old man actually broke into a frantic run in covering the last halt block.
 It was not until he was in his rooms, with the door bolted, that he could rid himself of the dread. The fire had gone out, and the light was low. His teeth chattered and his hand shook as he raised the wick in the lamp. The palsy of inexplicable fear was upon him. Kneeling before the stove, he be. gan to rebuild the fire. His back was toward the door, and he turned an anxious face in that direction from time to time. Footsteps on the stair way sent chill through his gaunt frame. They passed on up the next flight, but he waited breathlessly until he heard the door of the apartment above slam noisily.
 For half an hour he sat huddled in front of the stove without removing his hat and ulster.
 Course the luckr' he was saying overl and over again to himself, sometimes aloud. ''Why should he have a par don? What are the laws for? Curse that meddling old fool Clegg! They'll set him free, and he'll hunt me out; J know he will. He won't forgive me for that days work. He may be free now. It may have been he who fol lowed me. But, mol That's a silly thing to think. It takes weeks and months to get pardon. Maybe-may be they won't get 1t, after all."
 He tried to throw off his desperate feeling of apprehension, chattering all sorts of comforting reasons and ex cuses to himself as he scurried about the rooms with aimless haste. Try as he would, however, when the time came he could not read-not even of his courage inspiring Napoleon. The howl of the wind annoyed and appalled, him He caught himself listening intently for sounds above and not of the storm A nervous, intermittent laugh broke from his lips as he went on cursina himself for fool to be so disturbed by Graydon's report.
 "What have I to fear from hint Why should let that look of his un nerve me so? Why can't forget it? I, it didn't mean anything. Pm fool to think of 1t. Nearly two years ago that was. Why. he may be- A new thought chased the old one out before it was formed. His eyes caught sight of one of his completed models stand ing in the corner It was the model for the gufllotine.e
 For long time he sat staring at the thing, hundred impressions form ing and reforming in his brain
 'I wonder if I'll really die before he is liberated" he was saying dumbly to himself. T wonder if I will There's no sign of it now Pm strong and we'll enough to live for years. Sup pose he is freed inside of a month or two. What then? By heaven. I'd be losing the dearest hope of my whole life. My last sight of him-that beau-