The Ely miner., 1913-07-18
CHAPTER XXI.
The Last Interview.

The night was falling when Buford
left. He and Dominick had sat on in
the den, talking together in low voices,
going over past events in the concat-
enation of circumstances that had led
up to the extraordinary situation in
which they now found themselves.
Both listened with strained ears for
the opening of Bernice's door, but not
sound came from her room. Each
silently, without expressing his
thoughts to the other, wondered what
she would do, what sensational move
might now be expected of her. While
they talked, it was evident she in.
tended to make no sign of life.
After Buford had left. Dominick
called up his friend on the telephone
telling him that he would be unable
to meet him at dinner. He knew thai
Berny could hear every word he ut
tered, and with indescribable dread
he expected that she would open her
door and accost him. But again she
preserved an inviolate invisibility,
though beneath her portal he could
see a crack of light and could hear
her moving about in the room.
He went into his own room, lit the
gas, and began packing his trunks.
| He was dazed and stupefed by what
had occurred, and almost the only
| clearly-defined idea he had was to
leave the house and get far from the
presence of the woman who had SO
ruthlessly poisoned his life. He was
in the midst of his packing when the
Chinaman summoned him to dinner
but he told the man he cared for
nothing and would want no breakfast
on the following morning. The serv'
ant, who by this time was we'll aware
that the household was a strange one
shrugged his shoulders without com
ment and passed on to the door of his
mistress's room, upon which he
knocked with the low, deferential rap
Of the Chinese domestic. Berny's
voice sounded shrilly, through the 81.
lence of the fiat:
90 away! Let me alone! If that's
dinner l don't want any"
The sound of her voice pierced
Dominick with a sense Of loathing
and horror. He stopped in his pack
ing, suddenly deciding to leave
everything and go, go from the house
and from her as soon as he could get
away. He thrust into a valise such
articles as he would want for the
night and set the bag by the stair
Iryhi hn tn hn
find some bills and letters of his that
he remembered to have left In the
desk AS he passed Berny's door, it
flew open and she appeared in the
aperture. The room behind her was a
blaze Of light, and every gas-jet lit
and pouring a flood of radiance over
the clothes outspread on the bed, the
chairs, and the floor. She, herself,
in a lace-trimmed petticoat and loose
silk dressing-sack, stood in the door
way staring at Dominick, her face
pinched, white, and fierce.
What are you doing?" she said abb
ruptly. "Going away?"
YES" he answered, stopping at the
sight of the dreaded apparition.
'Inat S my 1ntentlOn.
where are you going?" she de-
manded.
He gave her a cold look and made
no answer.
Are you going to your mother's?"
she cried.
He moved forward toward the par
lor door and she came out into the
passage, looking after him and repeat
ing, with a tremulous, hoarse persis-
tence, "Dominick, answer me. Are
you going to your mother's?"
Eyes, am" he said over his shoul.
der.
He had an unutterable dread that
she would begin to speak of the sit
uation, of Buford, of her past life:
that she would try to explain and ex-
onerate herself and they would be
plunged into a long and profitless dis
cussion Of all the sickening, irremedi-
able wretchedness of the past. He
could not bear the thought of 1t; he
would have done anything to avoid it.
He wanted to escape from her, from
the house where she had tortured
him, where he seemed to have laid
down his manhood, his honor, his
faith, and seen her trample on them.
The natural supposition that he would
want to confront her with her decep-
tion and hear her explanation was the
last thing he desired doing.
CTO BE CONTINUED)