Atlanta Georgian. [volume] (Atlanta, Ga.) 1912-1939, 1912-08-09
The Gates of Silence -
By Meta Smmfns, author of"Hu{hed I7b,

solltary confinement" he told himself.
mere was Something about the woman
waning with him that reminded him Of
ms Wife. He thought of his wife for the
trst time deliberately and with no pity.
where was she now? What was she do
ing? Prosaering. of that he had no
doubt Wc4cen OF that kind always pros
pered.
But for the first time in all these
months certain uncomfortable sense of
responsibility stirred in his heart After
ALL she was his wife even if she had
slnned. 1t was as though contact with
his fellow beings, contact with suffering.
with fear, had lessened something of the
hatred in his heart
The door of the consulting room opened.
and the servant summoned the waiting
woman. As he held the door for her a
burst of childish laughter sounded in the
hall, and there was a scamper of child
ish feet, and a flying figure came dash
ing into the room. His visit was for a
moment only; a scandalized nurse fol-
/ lowed and caught up the little boy. a
! bundle of white wool surmounted by a
glowing. rosy face and golden curls, who
mad so gloriously. transgressed the most
stringent of the nursery laws But the
sight of him had been enough to set
| the venom of hatred a. work again in
Anthony Barringtons heart SO might
his son have been but for his mother
1t was the first time he had ever de-
liberately accused Edith in his heart of
being the direct cause of their chiId's
death
His face was very hard, very ugly in
its set lines when his own turn to enter
the consulting room came.
Only Himself.
No thought of Edith, no thought of the
dead child. no thought of anything but
himself and the verdict to be pronounced
over him, now when he sat in the arm
chair and submitted to the searching ex-
animation, the flashing of those strange
lights that hurt his eyes so cruelty.
The doctor was very vague long expe-
rience had taught him the art of CON
cealing truth in the midst of words But
Anthony Darlington could read faces. and
he read his own fate in the grave eyes
of the man bent above him.
The truth, please" he said. "You see
am painter, and naturally my eyes
are very important to me-"
They are to most people" the oculist
said. bluntly, a little nettled by touch
of arrogance in Barringtons manner
Then he felt ashamed. and gave his YER
dict, still dressed in many words but UNI
mistakable now; and as the meaning Of it
filtered home to Barringtons brain he
turned faint ana reeled.
Decay of the optic nerve. No chance
no earthly chance-of recovery,
The words whirled in his brain
How long do YOU give me-" he asked
suddenly. looking up.
The oculist was busy with a siphon
and a glass. He turned and came. hand
ing the glass TO Darlington. who took II
mechanically and with a shaking hand.
Six months-with care" he said. drop
ping his verbal veil now. with extreme
care-temperance in all things. and utter
freedom from mental worry. I am afraid
can promise no more than six months"
And with intemperance and the usual
worry inseparable from man who knows
that his life is dropping to pieces about
him?" asked Darlington
Three. perhaps. You see. you came to
me too late"
The words rang in Barrington's ears
as he left the house. Too late-too late!
His feet beat out an accompaniment to
them as he stumbledsup the street. and
the hoofs of every passing horse joined
in the refrain.