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It was the same light that had shone on the scene of which every detail was burnt into his brain; and he felt again its overpowering reality. No he couldn't let the boy go back! They were at the lodge at last, and Faxon was hammering on the door. He said to himself: "I'll get him inside first, and make them give him a hot drink. Then I'll see I'll find an argument...."
His laugh ended in a spasm of coughing and a struggle for breath that made Faxon, still holding his arm, guide him hastily into the shelter of the fireless waitingroom. Young Rainer had dropped down on the bench against the wall and pulled off one of his fur gloves to grope for a handkerchief.
"The way of the transgressor is hard," remarked Mr. Faxon, in pitying tones. These words were heard by Jaspar. They touched his pride. He could not endure the notes of pity. He raised his head, and his eyes glared with the fury of a demon. "Leave the house, sir!" gasped he, choking with passion. "Leave my house, or I will tear you limb from limb!
Faxon entered, and saw, with astonishment, the evidence of the recent fray. "Justice is triumphant, I see," said he, taking Emily by the hand, and affectionately congratulating her upon her return to Bellevue. "Heaven has been more indulgent to me than I deserve, has preserved me from a thousand perils I knew not of; and has, at last, placed me again in this haven of repose!" replied Emily.
Faxon; "your soul is still free from the heavy burden of such a guilt. Dalhousie and his wife live." "You lie, canting hypocrite! No mortal arm can save them. They have been eight days in my slave jail. Here are the keys," gasped Jaspar, drawing them from his pocket. "You shall see; I will call them," said Mr. Faxon.
"I should like to telephone to Weymore," he said with dry lips. "Sorry, sir; wires all down. We've been trying the last hour to get New York again for Mr. Lavington." Faxon shot on to his room, burst into it, and bolted the door. The lamplight lay on furniture, flowers, books; in the ashes a log still glimmered. He dropped down on the sofa and hid his face.
"But Hatchie was always honest and faithful," said Emily. "So he was, and I must share your surprise," returned Jaspar. "There is a possibility that it was not he," suggested Mr. Faxon. "There can be no doubt," said Jaspar, sharply. "The evidence is conclusive." "No doubt!" repeated Mr.
He produced this effect, Faxon noted, by the exercise of no gift but his youth, and of no art but his sincerity; and these qualities were revealed in a smile of such sweetness that Faxon felt, as never before, what Nature can achieve when she deigns to match the face with the mind.
The little steamer lay at the wharf, and George Faxon, sitting in the verandah of the wooden hotel, idly watched the coolies carrying the freight across the gang-plank. He had been looking at such scenes for two months.
The half-hour elapsed, and Faxon, rejoicing at the prospect of food, set out to make his way to the dining-room. He had not noticed the direction he had followed in going to his room, and was puzzled, when he left it, to find that two staircases, of apparently equal importance, invited him. He chose the one to his right, and reached, at its foot, a long gallery such as Rainer had described.
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