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Howe's face; he wanted to forget it, he was impatient to shake off the unpleasant remembrances it roused, and so engaged was he in this that by the time he had reached the rectory Mr. Denner and his perplexities were quite out of his mind, though the lawyer's face was still tingling with mortification. Mr. Denner could not keep his thoughts from his puzzle.
Nothing again! . . . His mother's anxious questions as to his health irritated him, and he so far lost his temper as to ask his sister why she was wearing a face like a fiddle. Poor Jeannie! For half the night she had been weeping for her hero and wishing the most awful things for the unknown Maggie. 'Ye'll be back for yer denner, laddie? his mother called after him as he left the house.
"When ladies," he would say, bowing to each sister in turn, with his little heels close together and his toes turned well out, "when ladies are so charitable to our vices, we will not reform, lest we lose the pleasure of being forgiven." Mr. Denner smoked a cigar, but Mr.
"Oh," he said "ah I had not thought of that." But when he left Mr. Dale, and slipped into the shadows of the Lombardy poplars on either side of his white gate-posts, Mr. Denner thought much of it, more with a sort of envy of Mr. Forsythe's future than of Lois. Mr.
"And as to his belief, why, you believe in hell, don't you, doctor?" "Oh, bless my soul, yes," said Dr. Howe, with a laugh, and with a twinkle in his eyes. "I must, you know, and it's well to be on the safe side, Giff; if you believe it here, theoretically, it is to be supposed you won't believe it there, experimentally!" He laughed again, his big, jolly laugh. "Good-by, Denner.
Once he said softly, "'In the hour of death, and in the day of judgment'" "'Good Lord, deliver us!" Gifford finished gently. Mr. Denner opened his eyes and looked at him. "Good Lord," he said, "ah yes yes that is enough, my friend. Good Lord; one leaves the rest." Dr. Howe walked home with a strange look on his face. He answered his daughter briefly, that Mr.
"Oh, there you are, dear Giff," she cried; "we were just looking for you. Pray, how is Mr. Denner?" Gifford's serious face answered her without words, and none of the group spoke for a moment. Then Gifford said, "It cannot last much longer. You see, he suffers very much at night; it doesn't seem as though he could live through another."
"No, I don't believe he has an idea that he he won't get well." The rector had a strange shrinking from the word "death." "I suppose he ought to know," Helen said thoughtfully. "That is what the doctor said," answered the rector; "told me he might want to settle his affairs. But bless my soul, what affairs can Denner have?
A gray veil fluttered across the face, so that Mr. Denner could not tell who it was, but instantly it flashed through his mind, "It is one of them!" He threw down his basket and rod, and braced himself for the shock of the encounter with the plunging horse; his little nerves, never very firm, were strung like steel.
Denner worked out chess problems by himself in his library, or read Cavendish and thought of next Saturday; and besides all this, he went once a week to Mercer, and sat waiting for clients in a dark back office, while he studied his weekly paper. But though there seemed plenty to do, sometimes Mr. Denner would sigh, and say to himself that it was somewhat lonely, and Mary was certainly severe.
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