The Olneyville times. (Olneyville [Providence, R.I.]) 1887-1917, 1915-08-20

ttldCeu. content mas come again. I
am no longer a deceiyer. my very
worst is known"
oliver This some minutes later.
"Are We alone?"
"Quite alone. father. Mrs. Scoville
Is busy and Reuther-Reuther Is in
the room above. can hear her light
step overhead"
The Judge was silent. He was gar
ing wistfully at the wall where hung
the portrait OF his young wife. He was
no longer in his room. but in the
CHEEKY front parlor. This Deborah had
nothing TO distract him from the con-
temptation | have mentioned.
There are things want TO say 10
you. Not many; you already know my
story. But do not know yours. and
cannot die till do. What took you
into the ravine that evening. Oliver.
and why. having picked up the stick.
did you fling IL from you and fly back
TO the highway? For the reason
ascribed to Scoville? Tell me. that
no cloud may remain between us Let
me know your heart as we'll as you
now know mine"
The reply brought the blood back
into his fading cheek.
Father, | have already explained
all this 10 Mr. Andrews, and now | will
explain II to you. | never liked Mr..
Etheridge as we'll as you did, and
brooded necessarily in those days
over the influence which he seemed 10
exert over you in regard 10 my future
career. But | never dreamed OF do
ing him a harm, and never supposed
| that | could so much as attempt any
argument with him on my own behalf
till that very night of internal compli.
cations and condolences. The cause
of this change was as follows: | had
gone upstairs, you remember. leaving
you alone with him as knew you de-
sired How came TO be In the room
above I don't remember. but I was
there and leaning out OF the window
directly over the porch when you and
Mr. Etheridge came out and stood In
| some final debate on the steps be-
low He was talking and you were lis
tening. and never shall | forget the ef.
feet his words and tones had upon me.
| had supposed him devoted to you.
and here he was addressing you tartly
and In an ungracious manner which
bespoke a man very different from the
one had been taught to look upon as
superior. The awe OF years yielded
before this display. and finding him
just human like the rest OF us. the
courage which / had always lacked In
approaching him took instant posses
boys unreasoning impulse to subject
him to personal appeal not to add
his influence to the distaste you at
present felt for the career upon which
I had set my heart. Nothing could
have been more foolish and nothing
more natural, perhaps. than the act
which followed. Iran down into the
ravine with the wild intention. SO
strangely duplicated In yourself few
minutes later. OF meeting and pleading
my cause with him at the bridge. but
unlike you, I took the middle OF the
ravine for my road and not the Sc
| cluded path at the side. II was this
which determined our fate. father, for
here | saw the stick and. catching II
up without further thought than of the
facility 1t offered for whiting. started
with II down the ravine. Scoville was
not in sight. The moment was the
one when he had quit looking for Reu-
ther and wandered away up the ra-
vine. have thought since that per.
haps the glimpse he had got OF his lit
tie one peering from the scene OF his
crime may have stirred even his guilty
conscience and sent him of on his
purposeless ramble; but. however this
was, | did not see him or anybody
else as took my way leisurely down
towards the bridge. whit.Ning at the
stick and thinking OF what | should
say to Mr.. Etheridge when met him.
And now for fate's final and most fatal
touch! Nothing which came into my
mind struck me quite favorably The
encounter which seemed such very
simple matter when frst contem.
| plated II. began to assume quite a DIFF.
ferent aspect as the moment for II ap-
| preached. BY the time | had come
abreast OF the hollow, I was tired OF
| the whole business. and hearing his
whistle and knowing by 1t that he was
very near. | plunged up the slope to
avoid him, and hurried straight away
into town. That Is my story. father.
II heard your steps approaching as
| plunged across the path into which
had thrown the stick In my anger at
having broken the point OF my knife
blade upon 1t. I thought nothing OF
them then. Afterwards believed
them TO be Scoville's, which may ac-
count to you for my silence about this
whole matter both before and during
the trial. was afraid OF the witness
stand and OF what might be elected
from me II once got into the hands OF
the lawyers. My abominable reticence
In regard 10 his former crime would
be brought up against me. and was
too young, too shy and uniformed TO
face such an ordeal. OF my own voli.
tion. Unhappily. I was not forced into