The Stillwater Tragedy

By Thomas Bailey Aldrich

I

It is close upon daybreak. The great wall of pines and hemlocksthat keep off the west wind from Stillwater stretches black andindeterminate against the sky. At intervals a dull, metallic sound, like the guttural twang of a violin string, rises form thefrog-invested swamp skirting the highway. Suddenly the birds stir intheir nests over there in the woodland, and break into that wildjargoning chorus with which they herald the advent of a new day. Inthe apple-orchards and among the plum-trees of the few gardens inStillwater, the wrens and the robins and the blue-jays catch up thecrystal crescendo, and what a melodious racket they make of it withtheir fifes and flutes and flageolets!

The village lies in a trance like death. Possibly not a soul hearsthis music, unless it is the watchers at the bedside of Mr. LeonardTappleton, the richest man in town, who has lain dying these threedays, and cannot last until sunrise. Or perhaps some mother, drowsilyhushing her wakeful baby, pauses a moment and listens vacantly to thebirds singing. But who else?

The hubbub suddenly ceases, --ceases as suddenly as it began, --andall is still again in the woodland. But it is not so dark as before. A faint glow of white light is discernible behind the ragged line ofthe tree-tops. The deluge of the darkness is receding from the faceof the earth, as the mighty waters receded of old. 

The roofs and tall factory chimneys of Stillwater are slowlytaking shape in the gloom. Is that a cemetery coming into viewyonder, with its ghostly architecture of obelisks and broken columnsand huddled head-stones? No, that is only Slocum's Marble Yard, withthe finished and unfinished work heaped up like snowdrifts, --acemetery in embryo. Here and there in an outlying farm a lanternglimmers in the barn-yard: the cattle are having their fodderbetimes. Scarlet-capped chanticleer gets himself on the nearestrail-fence and lifts up his rancorous voice like some irate oldcardinal launching the curse of Rome. Something crawls swiftly alongthe gray of the serpentine turnpike, --a cart, with the driver lashinga jaded horse. A quick wind goes shivering by, and is lost in theforest. 

Now a narrow strip of two-colored gold stretches along thehorizon. 

Stillwater is gradually coming to its senses. The sun has begun totwinkle on the gilt cross of the Catholic chapel and make itselfknown to the doves in the stone belfry of the South Church. Thepatches of cobweb that here and there cling tremulously to the coarsegrass of the inundated meadows have turned into silver nets, and themill-pond--it will be steel-blue later--is as smooth and white as ifit had been paved with one vast unbroken slab out of Slocum's MarbleYard. Through a row of button-woods on the northern skirt of thevillage is seen a square, lap-streaked building, painted adisagreeable brown, and surrounded on three sides by a platform, --oneof seven or eight similar stations strung like Indian heads on abranch thread of the Great Sagamore Railway. 

Listen! That is the jingle of the bells on the baker's cart as itbegins its rounds. From innumerable chimneys the curdled smoke givesevidence that the thrifty housewife--or, what is rarer in Stillwater, the hired girl--has lighted the kitchen fire. 

The chimney-stack of one house at the end of a small court--thelast house on the easterly edge of the village, and standing quitealone--sends up no smoke. Yet the carefully trained ivy over theporch, and the lemon verbena in a tub at the foot of the steps, intimate that the place is not unoccupied. Moreover, the littleschooner which acts as weather-cock on one of the gables, and is nowheading due west, has a new top-sail. It is a story-and-a-halfcottage, with a large expanse of roof, which, covered with porous, unpainted shingles, seems to repel the sunshine that now strikes fullupon it. The upper and lower blinds on the main building, as well asthose on the extensions, are tightly closed. The sun appears to beatin vain at the casement sof this silent house, which has a curiouslysullen and defiant air, as if it had desperately and successfullybarricaded itself against the approach of morning; yet if one werestanding in the room that leads from the bed-chamber on theground-floor--the room with the latticed window--one would see a rayof light thrust through a chink of the shutters, and pointing like ahuman finger at an object which lies by the hearth. 

This finger, gleaming, motionless, and awful in its precision, points to the body of old Mr. Lemuel Shackford, who lies there deadin his night-dress, with a gash across his forehead. 

In the darkness of that summer night a deed darker than the nightitself had been done in Stillwater. 

II

That morning, when Michael Hennessey's girl Mary--a girl sixteenyears old--carried the can of milk to the rear door of the silenthouse, she was nearly a quarter of hour later than usual, and lookedforward to being soundly rated. 

"He's up and been waiting for it, " she said to herself, observingthe scullery door ajar. "Won't I ketch it! It's him for growling andsnapping at a body, and it's me for always being before or behindtime, bad luck to me. There's no plazing him. "

Mary pushed back the door and passed through the kitchen, servingherself all the while to meet the objurgations which she supposedwere lying in wait for her. The sunshine was blinding without, butsifted through the green jalousies, it made a gray, crepuscular lightwithin. As the girl approached the table, on which a plate with knifeand fork had been laid for breakfast, she noticed, somewhatindistinctly at first, a thin red line running obliquely across thefloor from the direction of the sitting-room and ending near thestove, where it had formed a small pool. Mary stopped short, scarcelyconscious why, and peered instinctively into the adjoining apartment. Then, with a smothered cry, she let fall the milk-can, and a dozenwhite rivulets, in strange contrast to that one dark red line whichfirst startled her, went meandering over the kitchen floor. With hereyes riveted upon some object in the next room, the girl retreatedbackward slowly and heavily dragging one foot after the other, untilshe reached the gallery door; then she turned swiftly, and plungedinto the street. 

Twenty minutes later, every man, woman, and child in Stillwaterknew that old Mr. Shackford had been murdered. 

Mary Hennessey had to tell her story a hundred times during themorning, for each minute brought to Michael's tenement a freshlistener hungry for the details at first hand. 

"How was it, Molly? Tell a body, dear!"

"Don't be asking me!" cried Molly, pressing her palms to her eyesas if to shut out the sight, but taking all the while a secret creepysatisfaction in living the scene over again. "It was kinder dark inthe other room, and there he was, laying in his night-gownd, with hisface turned towards me, so, looking mighty severe-like, jest as if hewas a-going to say, 'It's late with the milk ye are, ye hussy!'--away he had of spaking. "

"But he didn't spake, Molly darlin'?"

"Niver a word. He was stone dead, don't you see. It was that stillyou could hear me heart beat, saving there wasn't a drop of beat init. I let go the can, sure, and then I backed out, with me eye on 'imall the while, afeard to death that he would up and spake themwords. "

"The pore child! for the likes of her to be wakin' up a murtheredman in the mornin'!"

There was little or no work done that day in Stillwater outsidethe mills, and they were not running full handed. A number of menfrom the Miantowona Iron Works and Slocum's Yard--Slocum employedsome seventy or eighty hands--lounged about the streets in theirblouses, or stood in knots in front of the tavern, smoking short claypipes. Not an urchin put in an appearance at the small red brickbuilding on the turnpike. Mr. Pinkham, the school-master, waited anhour for the recusants, then turned the key in the lock and wenthome. 

Dragged-looking women, with dishcloth or dustpan in hand, stood indoor-ways or leaned from windows, talking in subdued voices withneighbors on the curb-stone. In a hundred far-away cities the news ofthe suburban tragedy had already been read and forgotten; but herethe horror stayed. 

There was a constantly changing crowd gathered in front of thehouse in Welch's Court. An inquest was being held in the roomadjoining the kitchen. The court, which ended at the gate of thecottage, was fringed for several yards on each side by rows ofsqualid, wondering children, who understood it that Coroner Whiddenwas literally to sit on the dead body, --Mr. Whidden, a limp, inoffensive little man, who would not have dared to sit down on afly. He had passed, pallid and perspiring, to the scene of hisperfunctory duties. 

The result of the investigation was awaited with feverishimpatience by the people outside. Mr. Shackford had not been apopular man; he had been a hard, avaricious, passionate man, holdinghis own way remorselessly. He had been the reverse of popular, but hehad long been a prominent character in Stillwater, because of hiswealth, his endless lawsuits, and his eccentricity, an illustrationof which was his persistence in living entirely alone in the isolatedand dreary old house, that was henceforth to be inhabited by hisshadow. Not his shadow alone, however, for it was now remembered thatthe premises were already held in fee by another phantasmal tenant. At a period long anterior to this, one Lydia Sloper, a widow, haddied an unexplained death under that same roof. The coincidencestruck deeply into the imaginative portion of Stillwater. "The WidowSloper and old Shackford have made a match of it, " remarked a localhumorist, in a grimmer vain than customary. Two ghosts had now set uphousekeeping, as it were, in the stricken mansion, and what might notbe looked for in the way of spectral progeny!

It appeared to the crowd in the lane that the jury wereunconscionably long in arriving at a decision, and when the decisionwas at length reached it gave but moderate satisfaction. After aspendthrift waste of judicial mind the jury had decided that "thedeath of Lemuel Shackford was caused by a blow on the left temple, inflicted with some instrument not discoverable, in the hands of someperson or persons unknown. "

"We knew that before, " grumbled a voice in the crowd, when, torelieve public suspense, Lawyer Perkins--a long, lank man, withstringy black hair--announced the verdict from the doorstep. 

The theory of suicide had obtained momentary credence early in themorning, and one or two still clung to it with the tenacity thatcharacterizes persons who entertain few ideas. To accept this theoryit was necessary to believe that Mr. Shackford had ingeniously hiddenthe weapon after striking himself dead with a single blow. No, it wasnot suicide. So far from intending to take his own life, Mr. Shackford, it appeared, had made rather careful preparations to livethat day. The breakfast-table had been laid over night, the coalsleft ready for kindling in the Franklin stove, and a kettle, filledwith water to be heated for his tea or coffee, stood on the hearth. 

Two facts had sharply demonstrated themselves: first, that Mr. Shackford had been murdered; and, second, that the spur to the crimehad been the possession of a sum of money, which the deceased wassupposed to keep in a strong-box in his bedroom. The padlock had beenwrenched open, and the less valuable contents of the chest, chieflypapers, scattered over the carpet. A memorandum among the papersseemed to specify the respective sums in notes and gold that had beendeposited in the box. A document of some kind had been torn intominute pieces and thrown into the waste-basket. On close scrutiny aword or two here and there revealed the fact that the document was ofa legal character. The fragments were put into an envelope and givenin charge of Mr. Shackford's lawyer, who placed seals on that and onthe drawers of an escritoire which stood in the corner and containedother manuscript. 

The instrument with which the fatal blow had been dealt--for theautopsy showed that there had been but one blow--was not only notdiscoverable, but the fashion of it defied conjecture. The shape ofthe wound did not indicate the use of any implement known to thejurors, several of whom were skilled machinists. The wound was aninch and three quarters in length and very deep at the extremities;in the middle in scarcely penetrated to the cranium. So peculiar acut could not have been produced with the claw part of a hammer, because the claw is always curved, and the incision was straight. Aflat claw, such as is used in opening packing-cases, was suggested. Acollection of the several sizes manufactured was procured, but nonecorresponded with the wound; they were either too wide or too narrow. Moreover, the cut was as thin as the blade of a case-knife. 

"That was never done by any tool in these parts, " declaredStevens, the foreman of the finishing shop at Slocum's. 

The assassin or assassins had entered by the scullery door, thesimple fastening of which, a hook and staple, had been broken. Therewere footprints in the soft clay path leading from the side gate tothe stone step; but Mary Hennessey had so confused and obliteratedthe outlines that now it was impossible accurately to measure them. Ahalf-burned match was found under the sink, --evidently thrown thereby the burglars. It was of a kind known as the safety-match, whichcan be ignited only by friction on a strip of chemically preparedpaper glued to the box. As no box of this description was discovered, and as all the other matches in the house were of a different make, the charred splinter was preserved. The most minute examinationfailed to show more than this. The last time Mr. Shackford had beenseen alive was at six o'clock the previous evening. 

Who had done the deed?

Tramps! answered Stillwater, with one voice, though Stillwater laysomewhat out of the natural highway, and the tramp--that bitterblossom of civilization whose seed was blown to us from overseas--was not then so common by the New England roadsides as hebecame five or six years later. But it was intolerable not to have atheory; it was that or none, for conjecture turned to no one in thevillage. To be sure, Mr. Shackford had been in litigation withseveral of the corporations, and had had legal quarrels with morethan one of his neighbors; but Mr. Shackford had never beenvictorious in any of these contests, and the incentive of revenge waswanting to explain the crime. Besides, it was so clearly robbery. 

Though the gathering around the Shackford house had reduced itselfto half a dozen idlers, and the less frequented streets had resumedtheir normal aspect of dullness, there was a strange, electricquality in the atmosphere. The community was in that state ofsuppressed agitation and suspicion which no word adequatelydescribes. The slightest circumstance would have swayed it to thebelief in any man's guilt; and, indeed, there were men in Stillwaterquite capable of disposing of a fellow-creature for a much smallerreward than Mr. Shackford had held out. In spite of the tramp theory, a harmless tin-peddler, who had not passed through the place forweeks, was dragged from his glittering cart that afternoon, as hedrove smilingly into town, and would have been roughly handled if Mr. Richard Shackford, a cousin of the deceased, had not interfered. 

As the day wore on, the excitement deepened in intensity, thoughthe expression of it became nearly reticent. It was noticed that thelamps throughout the village were lighted an hour earlier than usual. A sense of insecurity settled upon Stillwater with the fallingtwilight, --that nameless apprehension which is possibly more tryingto the nerves than tangible danger. When a man is smitteninexplicably, as if by a bodiless hand stretched out of acloud, --when the red slayer vanishes like a mist and leaves nofaintest trace of his identity, --the mystery shrouding the deedpresently becomes more appalling than the deed itself. There issomething paralyzing in the thought of an invisible hand somewhereready to strike at your life, or at some life dearer than your own. Whose hand, and where is it? Perhaps it passes you your coffee atbreakfast; perhaps you have hired it to shovel the snow off yoursidewalk; perhaps it has brushed against you in the crowd; or may beyou have dropped a coin into the fearful palm at a street corner. Ah, the terrible unseen hand that stabs your imagination, --this immortalpart of you which is a hundred times more sensitive than your poorperishable body!

In the midst of situations the most solemn and tragic there oftenfalls a light purely farcical in its incongruity. Such a gleam wasunconsciously projected upon the present crisis by Mr. Bodge, betterknown in the village as Father Bodge. Mr. Bodge was stone deaf, naturally stupid, and had been nearly moribund for thirty years withasthma. Just before night-fall he had crawled, in his bewildered, wheezy fashion, down to the tavern, where he found a somber crowd inthe bar-room. Mr. Bodge ordered his mug of beer, and sat sipping it, glancing meditatively from time to time over the pewter rim at themute assembly. Suddenly he broke out: "S'pose you've heerd that oldShackford's ben murdered. "

So the sun went down on Stillwater. Again the great wall of pinesand hemlocks made a gloom against the sky. The moon rose from behindthe tree-tops, frosting their ragged edges, and then sweeping up tothe zenith hung serenely above the world, as if there were never acrime, or a tear, or a heart-break in it all. 

III

On the afternoon of the following day Mr. Shackford was dulyburied. The funeral, under the direction of Mr. Richard Shackford, who acted as chief mourner and was sole mourner by right of kinship, took place in profound silence. The carpenters, who had lost a day onBishop's new stables, intermitted their sawing and hammering whilethe services were in progress; the steam was shut off in theiron-mills, and no clinking of the chisel was heard in the marbleyard for an hour, during which many of the shops had their shuttersup. Then, when all was over, the imprisoned fiend in the boilers gavea piercing shriek; the leather bands slipped on the revolving drums, the spindles leaped into life again, and the old order of things wasreinstated, --outwardly, but not in effect. 

In general, when the grave closes over a man his career is ended. But Mr. Shackford was never so much alive as after they had buriedhim. Never before had he filled so large a place in the public eye. Though invisible, he sat at every fireside. Until the manner of hisdeath had been made clear, his ubiquitous presence was not to beexorcised. On the morning of the memorable day a reward of onehundred dollars--afterwards increased to five hundred, at theinsistence of Mr. Shackford's cousin--had been offered by the boardof selectmen for the arrest and conviction of the guilty party. Beyond this and the unsatisfactory inquest, the authorities had donenothing, and were plainly not equal to the situation. 

When it was stated, the night of the funeral, that a professionalperson was coming to Stillwater to look into the case, theannouncement was received with a breath of relief. 

The person thus vaguely described appeared on the spot the nextmorning. To mention the name of Edward Taggett is to mention a namewell known to the detective force of the great city lying sixty milessouthwest of Stillwater. Mr. Taggett's arrival sent such a thrill ofexpectancy through the village that Mr. Leonard Tappleton, whoseobsequies occurred this day, made his exit nearly unobserved. Yetthere was little in Mr. Taggett's physical aspect calculated to stireither expectation or enthusiasm: a slender man of about twenty-six, but not looking it, with overhanging brown mustache, sparseside-whiskers, eyes of no definite color, and faintly accentuatedeyebrows. He spoke precisely, and with a certain unembarrassedhesitation, as persons do who have two thoughts to one word, --ifthere are such persons. You might have taken him for a physician, ora journalist, or the secretary of an insurance company; but you wouldnever have supposed him the man who had disentangled the complicatedthreads of the great Barnabee Bank defalcation. 

Stillwater's confidence, which had risen into the nineties, fellto zero at sight of him. "Is _that_ Taggett?" they asked. Thatwas Taggett; and presently his influence began to be felt like asea-turn. The three Dogberrys of the watch were dispatched on secretmissions, and within an hour it was ferreted out that a man in a carthad been seen driving furiously up the turnpike the morning after themurder. This was an agricultural district, the road led to a markettown, and teams going by in the early dawn were the rule and not theexception; but on that especial morning a furiously driven cart wassignificant. Jonathan Beers, who farmed the Jenks land, had heard thewheels and caught an indistinct glimpse of the vehicle as he wasfeeding the cattle, but with a reticence purely rustic had not beenmoved to mention the circumstance before. 

"Taggett has got a clew, " said Stillwater under its breath. 

By noon Taggett had got the man, cart and all. But it was onlyBlufton's son Tom, of South Millville, who had started in hot hastethat particular morning to secure medical service for his wife, ofwhich she had sorely stood in need, as two tiny girls in a willowcradle in South Millville now bore testimony. 

"I haven't been cutting down the population _much, "_ saidBlufton, with his wholesome laugh. 

Thomas Blufton was well known and esteemed in Stillwater, but ifthe crime had fastened itself upon him it would have given somethinglike popular satisfaction. 

In the course of the ensuing forty-eight hours four or five trampswere overhauled as having been in the neighborhood at the time of thetragedy; but they each had a clean story, and were let go. Then oneDurgin, a workman at Slocum's Yard, was called upon to explain somehalf-washed-out red stains on his overalls, which he did. He hadtightened the hoops on a salt-pork barrel for Mr. Shackford severaldays previous; the red paint on the head of the barrel was fresh, andhad come off on his clothes. Dr. Weld examined the spots under amicroscope, and pronounced them paint. It was manifest that Mr. Taggett meant to go to the bottom of things. 

The bar-room of the Stillwater hotel was a center of interestthese nights; not only the bar-room proper, but the adjoiningapartment, where the more exclusive guests took their seltzer-waterand looked over the metropolitan newspapers. Twice a week a socialclub met here, having among its members Mr. Craggie, the postmaster, who was supposed to have a great political future, Mr. Pinkham, Lawyer Perkins, Mr. Whidden, and other respectable persons. The roomwas at all times in some sense private, with a separate entrance fromthe street, though another door, which usually stood open, connectedit with the main salon. In this was a long mahogany counter, onesection of which was covered with a sheet of zinc perforated like asieve, and kept constantly bright by restless caravans of lager-beerglasses. Directly behind that end of the counter stood a Gothicbrass-mounted beer-pump, at whose faucets Mr. Snelling, the landlord, flooded you five or six mugs in the twinkling of an eye, and raisedthe vague expectation that he was about to grind out some popularoperatic air. At the left of the pump stretched a narrow mirror, reflecting he gaily-colored wine-glasses and decanters which stood oneach other's shoulders, and held up lemons, and performed variousacrobatic feats on a shelf in front of it. 

The fourth night after the funeral of Mr. Shackford, a dismalsoutheast storm caused an unusual influx of idlers in both rooms. With the rain splashing against the casements and the wind slammingthe blinds, the respective groups sat discussing in a desultory waythe only topic which could be discussed at present. There had been ageneral strike among the workmen a fortnight before; but even thathad grown cold as a topic. 

"That was hard on Tom Blufton, " said Stevens, emptying the ashesout of his long-stemmed clay pipe, and refilling the bowl with cutcavendish from a jar on a shelf over his head. 

Michael Hennessey sat down his beer-mug with an air ofargumentative disgust, and drew one sleeve across his glisteningbeard. 

"Stevens, you've as many minds as a weather-cock, jist! Didn't yesay yerself it looked mighty black for the lad when he was took?"

"I might have said something of the sort, " Stevens admittedreluctantly, after a pause. "His driving round at daybreak with anempty cart did have an ugly look at first. "

"Indade, then. "

"Not to anybody who knew Tom Blufton, " interrupted Samuel Piggott, Blufton's brother-in-law. "The boy hasn't a bad streak in him. It wasan outrage. Might as well have suspected Parson Langly or FatherO'Meara. "

"If this kind of thing goes on, " remarked a man in the corner witha patch over one eye, "both of them reverend gents will be hauled up, I shouldn't wonder. "

"That's so, Mr. Peters, " responded Durgin. "If my respectabilitydidn't save me, who's safe?"

"Durgin is talking about his respectability! He's joking. "

"Look here, Dexter, " said Durgin, turning quickly on the speaker, "when I want to joke, I talk about your intelligence. "

"What kind of man is Taggett, anyhow?" asked Piggott. "You sawhim, Durgin. "

"I believe he was at Justice Beemis's office the day Blufton and Iwas there; but I didn't make him out in the crowd. Shouldn't know himfrom Adam. "

"Stillwater's a healthy place for tramps jest about this time, "suggested somebody. "Three on 'em snaked in to-day. "

"I think, gentlemen, that Mr. Taggett is on the right trackthere, " observed Mr. Snelling, in the act of mixing another OldHolland for Mr. Peters. "Not too sweet, you said? I feel it in mybones that it was a tramp, and that Mr. Taggett will bring him yet. "

"He won't find him on the highway yonder, " said a tgall, swarthyman named Torrini, an Italian. Nationalities clash in Stillwater. "That tramp is a thousand miles from here. "

"So he is if he has any brains under his hat, " returned Snelling. "But they're on the lookout for him. The minute he pawns anything, he's gone. "

"Can't put up greenbacks or gold, can he? He didn't take nothingelse, " interposed Bishop, the veterinary surgeon. 

"Now jewelry nor nothing?"

"There wasn't none, as I understand it, " said Bishop, "except asilver watch. That was all snug under the old man's piller. "

"Wanter know!" ejaculated Jonathan Beers. 

"I opine, Mr. Craggie, " said the school-master, standing in theinner room with a rolled-up file of the Daily Advertiser in his hand, "that the person who--who removed our worthy townsman will never bediscovered. "

"I shouldn't like to go quite so far as that, sir, " answered Mr. Craggie, with that diplomatic suavity which leads to postmastershipsand seats in the General Court, and has even been known to oil a dullfellow's way into Congress. "I cannot take quite so hopeless a viewof it. There are difficulties, but they must be overcome, Mr. Pinkham, and I think they will be. "

"Indeed, I hope so, " returned the school-master. "But there arecases--are there not?--in which the--the problem, if I may sodesignate it, has never been elucidated, and the persons whoundertook it have been obliged to go to the foot, so to speak. "

"Ah, yes, there are such cases, certainly. There was the Burdellmystery in New York, and, later, the Nathan affair--By the way, I'vesatisfactory theories of my own touching both. The police werebaffled, and remain so. But, my _dear_ sir, observe for a momentthe difference. "

Mr. Pinkham rested one finger on the edge of a little round table, and leaned forward in a respectful attitude to observe thedifference. 

"Those crimes were committed in a vast metropolis affording athousand chances for escape, as well as offering a thousandtemptations to the lawless. But we are a limited community. We haveno professional murderers among us. The deed which has stirredsociety to its utmost depths was plainly done by some wayfaringamateur. Remorse has already arrived upon him, if the police haven't. For the time being he escapes; but he is bound to betray himselfsooner or later. If the right steps are taken, --and I have myself thegreatest confidence in Mr. Taggett, --the guilty party can scarcelyfail to be brought to the bar of justice, if he doesn't bring himselfthere. "

"Indeed, indeed, I hope so, " repeated Mr. Pinkham. 

"The investigation is being carried on very closely. "

"Too closely, " suggested the school-master. 

"Oh dear, no, " murmured Mr. Craggie. "The strictest secrecy isnecessary in affairs of this delicate nature. If Tom, Dick, and Harrywere taken behind the scenes, " he added, with the air of one wishingto say too much, "the bottom would drop out of everything. "

Mr. Pinkham shrunk from commenting on a disaster like that, andrelapsed into silence. Mr. Craggie, with his thumbs in the arm-holesof his waistcoat, and his legs crossed in an easy, senatorialfashion, leaned back in the chair and smiled blandly. 

"I don't suppose there's nothing new, boys!" exclaimed a fat, florid man, bustling in good-naturedly at the public entrance, andleaving a straight wet trail on the sanded floor from the thresholdto the polished mahogany counter. Mr. Wilson was a local humorist ofthe Falstaffian stripe, though not so much witty in himself as thecause of wit in others. 

"No, Jimmy, there isn't anything new, " responded Dexter. 

"I suppose you didn't hear that the ole man done somethin'handsome for me in his last will and testyment. "

"No, Jemmy, I don't think he has made any provision whatever foran almshouse. "

"Sorry to hear that, Dexter, " said Willson, absorbedly chasing abit of lemon peel in his glass with the spoon handle, "for thereisn't room for us all up at the town-farm. How's your grandmother?Finds it tol'rably comfortable?"

They are a primitive, candid people in their hours of unlacedsocial intercourse in Stillwater. This delicate _tu quoque_ wasso far from wounding Dexter that he replied carelessly, --

"Well, only so so. The old woman complains of too muchchicken-sallid, and hot-house grapes all the year round. "

"Mr. Shackford must have left a large property, " observed Mr. Ward, of the firm of Ward & Lock, glancing up from the columns of theStillwater Gazette. The remark was addressed to Lawyer Perkins, whohad just joined the group in the reading-room. 

"Fairly large, " replied that gentleman crisply. 

"Any public bequests?"

"None to speak of. "

Mr. Craggie smiled vaguely. 

"You see, " said Lawyer Perkins, "there's a will and no will, --thatis to say, the fragments of what is supposed to be a will were found, and we are trying to put the pieces together. It is doubtful if wecan do it; it is doubtful if we can decipher it after we have doneit; and if we decipher it it is a question whether the document isvalid or not. "

"That is a masterly exposition of the dilemma, Mr. Perkins, " saidthe school-master warmly. 

Mr. Perkins had spoken in his court-room tone of voice, with onehand thrust into his frilled shirt-bosom. He removed this hand for asecond, as he gravely bowed to Mr. Pinkham. 

"Nothing could be clearer, " said Mr. Ward. "In case the paper isworthless, what then? I am not asking you in your professionalcapacity, " he added hastily; for Lawyer Perkins had been known tosend in a bill on as slight a provocation as Mr. Ward's. 

"That's a point. The next of kin has his claims. "

"My friend Shackford, of course, " broke in Mr. Craggie. "Admirableyoung man!--one of my warmest supporters. "

"He is the only heir at law so far as we know, " said Mr. Perkins. 

"Oh, " said Mr. Craggie, reflecting. "The late Mr. Shackford mighthave had a family in Timbuctoo or the Sandwich Islands. "

"That's another point. "

"The fact would be a deuced unpleasant point for young Shackfordto run against, " said Mr. Ward. 

"Exactly. "

"If Mr. Lemuel Shackford, " remarked Coroner Whidden, softlyjoining the conversation to which he had been listening in histimorous, apologetic manner, "had chanced, in the course of his earlysea-faring days, to form any ties of an unhappy complexion"--

"Complexion is good, " murmured Mr. Craggie. "Some Hawaiian lady!"

--"perhaps that would be a branch of the case worth investigatingin connection with the homicide. A discarded wife, or a disowned son, burning with a sense of wrong"--

"Really, Mr. Whidden!" interrupted Lawyer Perkins witheringly, "itis bad enough for my client to lose his life, without having hisreputation filched away from him. "

"I--I will explain! I was merely supposing"--

"The law never supposes, sir!"

This threw Mr. Whidden into great mental confusion. As coroner washe not an integral part of the law, and when, in his officialcharacter, he supposed anything was not that a legal supposition? Butwas he in his official character now, sitting with a glass oflemonade at his elbow in the reading-room of the Stillwater hotel?Was he, or was he not, a coroner all the time? Mr. Whidden stroked anisolated tuft of hair growing low on the middle of his forehead, andglared mildly at Mr. Perkins. 

"Young Shackford has gone to New York, I understand, " said Mr. Ward, breaking the silence. 

Mr. Perkins nodded. "Went this morning to look after thereal-estate interests there. It will probably keep him a couple ofweeks, --the longer the better. He was of no use here. Lemuel's deathwas a great shock to him, or rather the manner of it was. "

"That shocked every one. They were first cousin's weren't they?"Mr. Ward was a comparatively new resident in Stillwater. 

"First cousins, " replied Lawyer Perkins; "but they were never veryintimate, you know. "

"I imagine nobody was ever very intimate with Mr. Shackford. "

"My client was somewhat peculiar in his friendships. "

This was stating it charitably, for Mr. Perkins knew, and everyone present knew, that Lemuel Shackford had not had the shadow of afriend in Stillwater, unless it was his cousin Richard. 

A cloud of mist and rain was blown into the bar-room as the streetdoor stood open for a second to admit a dripping figure from theoutside darkness. 

 _"What's_ blowed down?" asked Durgin, turning round on hisstool and sending up a ring of smoke which uncurled itself withdifficulty in the dense atmosphere. 

"It's only some of Jeff Stavers's nonsense. "

"No nonsense at all, " said the new-comer, as he shook the heavybeads of rain from his felt hat. "I was passing by Welch'sCourt--it's as black as pitch out, fellows--when slap went somethingagainst my shoulder; something like wet wings. Well, I was scared. It's a bat, says I. But the thing didn't fly off; it was stillclawing at my shoulder. I put up my hand, and I'll be shot if itwasn't the foremast, jib-sheet and all, of the old weather-cock onthe north gable of the Shackford house! Here you are!" and thespeaker tossed the broken mast, with the mimic sails dangling fromit, into Durgin's lap. 

A dead silence followed, for there wa felt to be something weirdlysignificant in the incident. 

"That's kinder omernous, " said Mr. Peters, interrogatively. 

"Ominous of what?" asked Durgin, lifting the wet mass from hisknees and dropping it on the floor. 

"Well, sorter queer, then. "

"Where does the queer come in?" inquired Stevens, gravelly. "Idon't know; but I'm hit by it. "

"Come, boys, don't crowd a feller, " said Mr. Peters, gettingrestive. "I don't take the contract to explain the thing. But it doesseem some way droll that the old schooner should be wrecked so soonafter what has happened to the old skipper. If you don't see it, orsense it, I don't insist. What's yours, Denyven?"

The person addressed as Denyven promptly replied, with a finesonorous English accent, "a mug of 'alf an' 'alf, --with a head on it, Snelling. "

At the same moment Mr. Craggie, in the inner room was saying tothe school-master, --

"I must really take issue with you there, Mr. Pinkham. I admitthere's a good deal in spiritualism which we haven't got at yet; thescience is in its infancy; it is still attached to the bosom ofspeculation. It is a beautiful science, that of psychologicalphenomena, and the spiritualists will yet become an influential classof"--Mr. Craggie was going to say voters, but glided overit--"persons. I believe in clairvoyance myself to a large extent. Before my appointment to the post-office I had it very strong. I'veno doubt that in the far future this mysterious factor will be madegreat use of in criminal cases; but at present I should resort to itonly in the last extremity, --the very last extremity, Mr. Pinkham!"

"Oh, of course, " said the school-master deprecatingly. "I threw itout only as the merest suggestion. I shouldn't think of--of--youunderstand me?"

"Is it beyond the dreams of probability, " said Mr. Craggie, appealing to Lawyer Perkins, "that clairvoyants may eventually beintroduced into cases in our courts?"

"They are now, " said Mr. Perkins, with a snort, --"the police bring'em it. "

Mr. Craggie finished the remainder of his glass of sherry insilence, and presently rose to go. Coroner Whidden and Mr. Ward hadalready gone. The guests in the public room were thinning out; agloom, indefinable and shapeless like the night, seemed to havefallen upon the few that lingered. At a somewhat earlier hour tdhanusual the gas was shut off in the Stillwater hotel. 

In the lonely house in Welch's Court a light was still burning. 

IV

A sorely perplexed man sat there, bending over his papers by thelamp-light. Mr. Taggett had established himself at the Shackfordhouse on his arrival, preferring it to the hotel, where he would havebeen subjected to the curiosity of the guests and to endlessannoyances. Up to this moment, perhaps not a dozen persons in theplace had had more than a passing glimpse of him. He was a very busyman, working at his desk from morning until night, and then takingonly a brief walk, for exercise in some unfrequented street. Hismeals were sent in from the hotel to the Shackford house, where theconstables reported to him, and where he held protracted conferenceswith Justice Beemis, Coroner Whidden, Lawyer Perkins, and a fewothers, and declined to be interviewed by the local editor. 

To the outside eye that weather-stained, faded old house appeareda throbbing seat of esoteric intelligence. It was as if a hundredinvisible magnetic threads converged to a focus under that roof andincessantly clicked ouit the most startling information, --informationwhich was never by any chance allowed to pass beyond the charmedcircle. The pile of letters which the mail brought to Mr. Taggettevery morning--chiefly anonymous suggestions, and offers ofassistance from lunatics in remote cities--was enough in itself toexpasperate a community. 

Covertly at first, and then openly, Stillwater began seriously toquestion Mr. Taggett's method of working up the case. The Gazette, ina double-leaded leader, went so far as to compare him to a bird withfine feathers and no song, and to suggest that perhaps the bird mighthave sung if the inducement offered had been more substantial. Asinger of Mr. Taggett's plumage was not to be taught by such chaff asfive hundred dollars. Having killed his man, the editor proceeded toremark that he would suspend judgment until next week. 

As if to make perfect the bird comparison, Mr. Taggett, afterkeeping the public in suspense for six days and nights, abruptly flewaway, with all the little shreds and straws of evidence he had pickedup, to build his speculative nest elsewhere. 

The defection of Mr. Taggett caused a mild panic among a certainportion of the inhabitants, who were not reassured by the statementin the Gazette that the case would now be placed in the properhands, --the hand so the county constabulary. "Within a few days, "said the editor in conclusion, "the matter will undoubtedly becleared up. At present we cannot say more;" and it would have puzzledhim very much to do so. 

A week passed, and no fresh light was thrown upon the catastrophe, nor did anything occur to rattle the usual surface of life in thevillage. A man--it was Torrini, the Italian--got hurt in Dana's ironfoundry; one of Blufton's twin girls died; and Mr. Slocum took on anew hand from out of town. That was all. Stillwater was theStillwater of a year ago, with always the exception of that shadowlying upon it, and the fact that small boys who had kindling to getin were careful to get it in before nightfall. It would appear thatthe late Mr. Shackford had acquired a habit of lingering aroundwood-plies after dark, and also of stealing into bed-chambers, wherelittle children were obliged to draw the sheets over their heads inorder not to see him. 

The action of the county constabulary had proved quite asmysterious and quite as barren of result as Mr. Taggett's had been. They had worn his mantle of secrecy, and arrested the tramps overagain. 

Another week dragged by, and the editorial prediction seemed asfar as ever from fulfillment. But on the afternoon which closed thatfortnight a very singular thing did happen. Mr. Slocum was sittingalone in his office, which occupied the whole of a small building atthe right of the main gate to the marble works. When the door behindhim softly opened and a young man, whose dress covered withstone-dust indicated his vocation, appeared on the threshold. Hehesitated a second, and then stepped into the room. Mr. Slocum turnedround with a swift, apprehensive air. 

"You gave me a start! I believe I haven't any nerves left. Well?"

"Mr. Slocum, I have found the man. "

The proprietor of the marble yard half rose from the desk in hisagitation. 

"Who is it?" he asked beneath his breath. 

The same doubt or irresolution which had checked the workman atthe threshold seemed again to have taken possession of him. It wasfully a moment before he gained the mastery over himself; but themastery was complete; for he leaned forward gravely, almost coldly, and pronounced two words. A quick pallor overspread Mr. Slocum'sfeatures. 

"Good God!" he exclaimed, sinking back into the chair. "Are youmad?"

V

The humblest painter of real life, if he could have his desire, would select a picturesque background for his figures; but eventshave an inexorable fashion for choosing their own landscape. In thepresent instance it is reluctantly conceded that there are few uglieror more commonplace towns in New England than Stillwater, --astraggling, overgrown village, with whose rural aspects are curiouslyblended something of the grimness and squalor of certain shabby cityneighborhoods. Being of comparatively recent date, the place has noneof those colonial associations which, like sprigs of lavender in anold chest of drawers, are a saving grace to other quite as drearynooks and corners. 

Here and there at what is termed the West End is a neat brickmansion with garden attached, where nature asserts herself in dahliasand china-asters; but the houses are mostly frame houses that havetaken a prevailing dingy tint from the breath of the tall chimneyswhich dominate the village. The sidewalks in the more aristocraticquarter are covered with a thin, elastic paste of asphalte, worn downto the gravel in patches, and emitting in the heat of the day anastringent, bituminous odor. The population is chiefly of the roughersort, such as breeds in the shadow of foundries and factories, and ifthe Protestant pastor and the fatherly Catholic priest, whoserespective lots are cast there, have sometimes the sense of beingmissionaries dropped in the midst of a purely savage community, thedelusion is not wholly unreasonable. 

The irregular heaps of scoria that have accumulated in thevicinity of the iron works give the place an illusive air ofantiquity; bit it is neither ancient nor picturesque. The oldest andmost pictorial thing in Stillwater is probably the marble yard, around three sides of which the village may be said to have sproutedup rankly, bearing here and there an industrial blossom in the shapeof an iron-mill or a cardigan-jacket manufactory. Rowland Slocum, aman of considerable refinement, great kindness of heart, and noforce, inherited the yard from his father, and a the period thisnarrative opens (the summer of 187-) was its sole proprietor andnominal manager, the actual manager being Richard Shackford, aprospective partner in the business and the betrothed of Mr. Slocum'sdaughter Margaret. 

Forty years ago every tenth person in Stillwater was either aShackford or a Slocum. Twenty years later both names were nearlyextinct there. That fatality which seems to attend certain NewEngland families had stripped every leaf but two from the Shackfordbranch. These were Lemuel Shackford, then about forty-six, andRichard Shackford, aged four. Lemuel Shackford had laid up acompetency as ship-master in the New York and Calcutta trade, and in1852 had returned to his native village, where he found his name andstock represented only by little Dick, a very cheerful orphan, whostared complacently with big blue eyes at fate, and made mud-pies inthe lane whenever he could elude the vigilance of the kindly oldwoman who had taken him under her roof. This atom of humanity, bysome strange miscalculation of nature, was his cousin. 

The strict devotion to his personal interests which had enabledMr. Shackford to acquire a fortune thus early caused him to lookaskance at a penniless young kinsman with stockings down at heel, anda straw hat three sizes too large for him set on the back of hishead. But Mr. Shackford was ashamed to leave little Dick a burdenupon the hands of a poor woman of no relationship whatever to thechild; so little Dick was transferred to that dejected house whichhas already been described, and was then known as the Sloper house. 

 Here, for three of four years, Dick grew up, as neglected as aweed, and every inch as happy. It should be mentioned that for thefirst year or so a shock-headed Cicely from the town-farm hadapparently been hired not to take care of him. But Dick asked nothingbetter than to be left to his own devices, which, moreover, wereinnocent enough. He would sit all day in the lane at the front gatepottering with a bit of twig or a case-knife in the soft clay. Fromtime to time passers-by observed that the child was not makingmud-pies, but tracing figures, comic or grotesque as might happen, and always quite wonderful for their lack of resemblance to anythinghuman. That patch of reddish-brown clay was his sole resource, hisslate, his drawing-book, and woe to anybody who chanced to walk overlittle Dick's arabesques. Patient and gentle in his acceptance of theworld's rebuffs, this he would not endure. He was afraid of Mr. Shackford, yet one day, when the preoccupied man happened to trampleon a newly executed hieroglyphic, the child rose to his feet whitewith rage, his fingers clenched, and such a blue fire flashing in theeyes that Mr. Shackford drew back aghast. 

"Why, it's a little devil!"

While Shackford junior was amusing himself with his primitivebas-reliefs, Shackford senior amused himself with his lawsuits. Fromthe hour when he returned to the town until the end of his days Mr. Shackford was up to his neck in legal difficulties. Now he resisted abetterment assessment, and fought the town; now he secured aninjunction on the Miantowona Iron Works, and fought the corporation. He was understood to have a perpetual case in equity before theMarine Court in New York, to which city he made frequent andunannounced journeys. His immediate neighbors stood in terror of him. He was like a duelist, on the alert to twist the slightest thing intoa _casus belli_. The law was his rapier, his recreation, and hewas willing to bleed for it. 

Meanwhile that fairy world of which every baby becomes a Columbusso soon as it is able to walk remained an undiscovered continent tolittle Dick. Grim life looked in upon him as he lay in the cradle. The common joys of childhood were a sealed volume to him. A singleincident of those years lights up the whole situation. A vague rumorhad been blown to Dick of a practice of hanging up stockings atChristmas. It struck his materialistic mind as a rather senselessthing to do; but nevertheless he resolved to try it one ChristmasEve. He lay awake a long while in the frosty darkness, skepticallywaiting for something remarkable to happen; once he crawled out ofthe cot-bed and groped his way to the chimney place. The next morninghe was scarcely disappointed at finding nothing in the piteous littlestocking, except the original holes. 

The years that stole silently over the heads of the old man andthe young child in Welch's Court brought a period of wild prosperityto Stillwater. The breath of war blew the forges to a white heat, andthe baffling problem of the medićval alchemists was solved. The basermetals were transmuted into gold. A disastrous, prosperous time, withthe air rent periodically by the cries of newsboys as battles werefought, and by the roll of the drum in the busy streets as freshrecruits were wanted. Glory and death to the Southward, and at theNorth pale women in black. 

All which interested Dick mighty little. After he had learned toread at the district school, he escaped into another world. Twolights were now generally seen burning of a night in the Shackfordhouse: one on the ground-floor where Mr. Shackford sat mouthing hiscontracts and mortgages, and weaving his webs like a great, lean, gray spider; and the other in the north gable, where Dick hung over atattered copy of Robinson Crusoe by the flicker of the candle-endswhich he had captured during the day. 

Little Dick was little Dick no more: a tall, heavily built blondboy, with a quiet, sweet disposition, that at first offeredtemptations to the despots of the playground; but a sudden flaring uponce or twice of that unexpected spirit which had broken out in hisbabyhood brought him immunity from serious persecution. 

The boy's home life at this time would have seemed pathetic to anobserver, --the more pathetic, perhaps, in that Dick himself was notaware of its exceptional barrenness. The holidays that bring newbrightness to the eyes of happier children were to him simply dayswhen he did not go to school, and was expected to provide an extraquantity of kindling wood. He was housed, and fed, and clothed, aftera fashion, but not loved. Mr. Shackford did not ill-treat the lad, inthe sense of beating him; he merely neglected him. Every year the manbecame more absorbed in his law cases and his money, whichaccumulated magically. He dwelt in a cloud of calculations. Thoughall his interests attached him to the material world, his dry, attenuated body seemed scarcely a part of it. 

"Shackford, what are you going to do with that scapegrace ofyours?"

It was Mr. Leonard Tappleton who ventured the question. Fewpersons dared to interrogate Mr. Shackford on his private affairs. 

"I am going to make a lawyer of him, " said Mr. Shackford, crackling his finger-joints like stiff parchment. 

"You couldn't do better. You _ought_ to have an attorney inthe family. "

"Just so, " assented Mr. Shackford, dryly. "I could throw a bit ofbusiness in his way now and then, --eh?"

"You could make his fortune, Shackford. I don't see but you mightemploy him all the time. When he was not fighting the corporations, you might keep him at it suing you for his fees. "

"Very good, very good indeed, " responded Mr. Shackford, with asmile in which his eyes took no share, it was merely a momentarycurling up of crisp wrinkles. He did not usually smile at otherpeople's pleasantries; but when a person worth three or four hundredthousand dollars condescends to indulge a joke, it is not to bepassed over like that of a poor relation. "Yes, yes, " muttered theold man, as he stooped and picked up a pin, adding it to a row ofsimilarly acquired pins which gave the left lapel of his threadbarecoat the appearance of a miniature harp, "I shall make a lawyer ofhim. "

It had long been settled in Mr. Shackford's mind that Richard, sosoon as he had finished his studies, should enter the law-office ofBlandmann & Sharpe, a firm of rather sinister reputation in SouthMillville. 

At fourteen Richard's eyes had begun to open on the situation; atfifteen he saw very clearly; and one day, without much preliminaryformulating of his plan, he decided on a step that had been taken byevery male Shackford as far back as tradition preserves the record ofhis family. 

A friendship had sprung up between Richard and one William Durgin, a school-mate. This Durgin was a sallow, brooding boy, a year olderthan himself. The two lads were antipodal in disposition, intelligence, and social standing; for though Richard went poorlyclad, the reflection of his cousin's wealth gilded him. Durgin wasthe son of a washerwoman. An intimacy between the two would perhapshave been unlikely but for one fact: it was Durgin's mother who hadgiven little Dick a shelter at the period of his parents' death. Though the circumstance did not lie within the pale of Richard'spersonal memory, he acknowledged the debt by rather insisting onDurgin's friendship. It was William Durgin, therefore, who waselected to wait upon Mr. Shackford on a certain morning which foundthat gentleman greatly disturbed by an unprecedentedoccurrence, --Richard had slept out of the house the previous night. 

Durgin was the bearer of a note which Mr. Shackford received insome astonishment, and read deliberately, blinking with weak eyesbehind the glasses. Having torn off the blank page and laid it asidefor his own more economical correspondence (the rascal had actuallyused a whole sheet to write ten words!), Mr. Shackford turned, andwith the absorbed air of a naturalist studying some abnormal buggazed over the steel bow of his spectacles at Durgin. 

"Skit!"

Durgin hastily retreated. 

"There's a poor lawyer saved, " muttered the old man, taking downhis overcoat from a peg behind the door, and snapping off a shred oflint on the collar with his lean forefinger. Then his face relaxed, and an odd grin diffused a kind of wintry glow over it. 

Richard had run away to sea. 

VI

After a lapse of four years, during which he had as completelyvanished out of the memory of Stillwater as if he had been lying allthe while in the crowded family tomb behind the South Church, RichardShackford reappeared one summer morning at the door of his cousin'shouse in Welch's Court. Mr. Shackford was absent at the moment, andMrs. Morganson, an elderly deaf woman, who came in for a few hoursevery day to do the house-work, was busy in the extension. Withoutannouncing himself, Richard stalked up-stairs to the chamber in thegable, and went directly to a little shelf in one corner, upon whichlay the dog's-eared copy of Robinson Crusoe just as he had left it, save the four years' accumulation of dust. Richard took the bookfiercely in both hands, and with a single mighty tug tore it from topto bottom, and threw the fragments into the fire-place. 

A moment later, on the way down-stairs, he encountered his kinsmanascending. 

"Ah, you have come back!" was Mr. Shackford's grim greeting aftera moment's hesitation. 

"Yes, " said Richard, with embarrassment, though he had made up hismind not to be embarrassed by his cousin. 

"I can't say I was looking for you. You might have dropped me aline; you were politer when you left. Why do you come back, and whydid you go away?" demanded the old man, with abrupt fierceness. Thelast four years had bleached him and bent him and made him look veryold. 

"I didn't like the idea of Blandmann & Sharpe, for one thing, "said Richard, "and I thought I liked the sea. "

"And did you?"

"No, sir! I enjoyed seeing foreign parts, and all that. "

"Quite the young gentleman on his travels. But the sea didn'tagree with you, and now you like the idea of Blandmann & Sharpe?"

"Not the least in the world, I assure you!" cried Richard. "I taketo it as little as ever I did. "

"Perhaps that is fortunate. But it's going to be rather difficultto suit your tastes. What _do_ you like?"

"I like you, cousin Lemuel; you have always been kind to me--inyour way, " said poor Richard, yearning for a glimmer of human warmthand sympathy, and forgetting all the dreariness of his uncared-forchildhood. He had been out in the world, and had found it evenharder-hearted than his own home, which now he idealized in the firstflush of returning to it. Again he saw himself, a blond-headed littlefellow with stocking down at heel, climbing the steep staircase, ordigging in the clay at the front gate with the air full of the breathof lilacs. That same penetrating perfume, blown through the openhall-door as he spoke, nearly brought the tears to his eyes. He hadlooked forward for years to this coming back to Stillwater. Many atime, as he wandered along the streets of some foreign sea-port, therich architecture and the bright costumes had faded out before him, and given place to the fat gray belfry and slim red chimneys of thehumble New England village where he was born. He had learned to loveit after losing it; and now he had struggled back through countlesstrials and disasters to find no welcome. 

"Cousin Lemuel, " said Richard gently, "only just us two are left, and we ought to be good friends, at least. "

"We are good enough friends, " mumbled Mr. Shackford, who cold notevade taking the hand which Richard had forlornly reached out to him, "but that needn't prevent us understanding each other like rationalcreatures. I don't care for a great deal of fine sentiment in peoplewho run away without so much as thank'e. "

"I was all wrong!"

"That's what folks always say, with the delusion that it makeseverything all right. "

"Surely it help, --to admit it. "

"That depends; it generally doesn't. What do you propose to do?"

"I hardly know at the moment; my plans are quite in the air. "

"In the air!" repeated Mr. Shackford. "I fancy that describesthem. Your father's plans were always in the air, too, and he nevergot any of them down. "

"I intend to get mine down. "

"Have you saved by anything?"

"Not a cent. "

"I thought as much. "

"I had a couple of hundred dollars in my sea-chest; but I wasshipwrecked, and lost it. I barely saved myself. When RobinsonCrusoe"--

"Damn Robinson Crusoe!" snapped Mr. Shackford. 

"That's what I say, " returned Richard gravely. "When RobinsonCrusoe was cast on an uninhabited island, shrimps and soft-shellcrabs and all sorts of delicious mollusks--readily boiled, I've nodoubt--crawled up on the beach, and begged him to eat them; but_I_ nearly starved to death. "

"Of course. You will always be shipwrecked, and always be starvedto death; you are one of that kind. I don't believe you are aShackford at all. When they were not anything else they were goodsailors. If you only had a drop of _his_ blood in your veins!"and Mr. Shackford waved his head towards a faded portrait of ayoungish, florid gentleman with banged hair and high coat-collar, which hung against the wall half-way up the stair-case. This was thecounterfeit presentment of Lemuel Shackford's father seated with hisback at an open window, through which was seen a ship under fullcanvas with the union-jack standing out straight in the wrongdirection. "But what are you going to do for yourself? You can'tstart a subscription paper, and play with shipwrecked mariner, youknow. "

"No, I hardly care to do that, " said Richard, with a good-naturedlaugh, "though no poor devil ever had a better outfit for thecharacter. "

"What _are_ you calculated for?"

Richard was painfully conscious of his unfitness for many things;but he felt there was nothing in life to which he was so ill adaptedas his present position. Yet, until he could look about him, he mustneeds eat his kinsman's reluctant bread, or starve. The world wasyounger and more unsophisticated when manna dropped fro the clouds. 

Mr. Shackford stood with his neck craned over the frayed edge ofhis satin stock and one hand resting indecisively on the banister, and Richard on the step above, leaning his back against the blightedflowers of the wall-paper. From an oval window at the head of thestairs the summer sunshine streamed upon them, and illuminated thehigh-shouldered clock which, ensconced in an alcove, seemed top belistening to the conversation. 

"There's no chance for you in the law, " said Mr. Shackford, aftera long pause. "Sharpe's nephew has the berth. A while ago I mighthave got you into the Miantowona Iron Works; but the rascallydirectors are trying to ruin me now. There's the Union Store, if theyhappen to want a clerk. I suppose you would be about as handy behinda counter as a hippopotamus. I have no business of my own to trainyou to. You are not good for the sea, and the sea has probablyspoiled you for anything else. A drop of salt water just poisons alandsman. I am sure I don't know what to do with you. "

"Don't bother yourself about it at all, " said Richard, cheerfully. "You are going back on the whole family, ancestors and posterity, bysuggesting that I can't make my own living. I only want a little timeto take breath, don't you see, and a crust and a bed for a few days, such as you might give any wayfarer. Meanwhile, I will look afterthings around the place. I fancy I was never an idler here since theday I learnt to split kindling. "

"There's your old bed in the north chamber, " said Mr. Shackford, wrinkling his forehead helplessly. "According to my notion, it is notso good as a bunk, or a hammock slung in a tidy forecastle, but it'sat your service, and Mrs. Morganson, I dare say, can lay an extraplate at table. "

With which gracious acceptance of Richard's proposition, Mr. Shackford resumed his way upstairs, and the young man thoughtfullydescended to the hall-door and thence into the street, to take ageneral survey of the commercial capabilities of Stillwater. 

The outlook was not inspiring. A machinist, or a mechanic, or aday laborer might have found a foot-hold. A man without handicraftwas not in request in Stillwater. "What is your trade?" was thestaggering question that met Richard at the threshold. He went fromworkshop to workshop, confidently and cheerfully at first, whistlingsoftly between whiles; but at every turn the question confronted him. In some places, where he was recognized with thinly veiled surpriseas that boy of Shackford's, he was kindly put off; in others hereceived only a stare or a brutal No. 

By noon he had exhausted the leading shops and offices in thevillage, and was so disheartened that he began to dread the thoughtof returning home to dinner. Clearly, he was a superfluous person inStillwater. A mortar-splashed hod-carrier, who had seated himself ona pile of brick and was eating his noonday rations from a tin canjust brought to him by a slatternly girl, gave Richard a spasm of envy. Here was a man who had found his place, and was establishing--whatRichard did not seem able to establish in his own case--a right toexist. 

At supper Mr. Shackford refrained from examining Richard on hisday's employment, for which reserve, or indifference, the boy wasgrateful. When the silent meal was over the old man went to hispapers, and Richard withdrew to his room in the gable. He hadneglected to provide himself with a candle. Howwever, there wasnothing to read, for in destroying Robinson Crusoe he had destroyedhis entire library; so he sat and brooded in the moonlight, casting alook of disgust now and then at the mutilated volume on the hearth. That lying romance! It had been, indirectly, the cause of all hiswoe, filling his boyish brain with visions of picturesque adventure, and sending him off to sea, where he had lost four precious years ofhis life. 

"If I had stuck to my studies, " reflected Richard whileundressing, "I might have made something of myself. He's a greatfriend, Robinson Crusoe. "

Richard fell asleep with as much bitterness in his bosom againstDeFoe's ingenious hero as if Robinson had been a living personinstead of a living fiction, and out of this animosity grew a dreamso fantastic and comical that Richard awoke himself with a bewilderedlaugh just as the sunrise reddened the panes of the chamber window. In this dream somebody came to Richard and asked him if he had heardof that dreadful thing about young Crusoe. 

"No, confound him!" said Richard, "what is it?"

"It has been ascertained, " said somebody, who seemed to Richard atonce an intimate friend and an utter stranger, --"it has beenascertained beyond a doubt that the man Friday was not a man Fridayat all, but a light-minded young princess from one of the neighboringislands who had fallen in love with Robinson. Her real name wasSaturday. "

"Why, that's scandalous!" cried Richard with heat. "Think of theadmiration and sympathy the world has been lavishing on this preciouspair; Robinson Crusoe and his girl Saturday! That puts a differentface on it. "

"Another great moral character exploded, " murmured the shadowyshape, mixing itself up with the motes of a sunbeam and drifting outthrough the window. Then Richard fell to laughing in his sleep, andso awoke. He was still confused with the dream as he sat on the edgeof his bed, pulling himself together in the broad daylight. 

"Well, " he muttered at length, "I shouldn't wonder! There'snothing too bad to be believed of that man. "

VII

Richard made an early start that morning in search of employment, and duplicated the failure of the previous day. Nobody wanted him. Ifnobody wanted him in the village where he was born and bred, avillage of counting-rooms and workshops, was any other place likelyto need him? He had only one hope, if it could be called a hope; atany rate, he had treated it tenderly as such and kept it for thelast. He would apply to Rowland Slocum. Long ago, when Richard was anurchin making pot-hooks in the lane, the man used occasionally to pathim on the head and give him pennies. This was not a foundation onwhich to rear a very lofty castle; but this was all he had. 

It was noon when Richard approached the marble yard, and the menwere pouring out into the street through the wide gate in the roughdeal fence which inclosed the works, --heavy, brawny men, covered withfine white dust, who shouldered each other like cattle, and took thesidewalk to themselves. Richard stepped aside to let them pass, eyingthem curiously as possible comrades. Suddenly a slim dark fellow, whohad retained his paper cap and leather apron, halted and thrust fortha horny hand. The others went on. 

"Hullo, Dick Shackford!"

"What, is that you, Will? _You_ here?"

"Been here two years now. One of Slocum's apprentices, " addedDurgin, with an air of easy grandeur. 

"Two years? How time flies--when it doesn't crawl! Do you likeit?"

"My time will be out next--Oh, the work? Well, yes; it's not bad, and there's a jolly set in the yard. But how about you? I heard lastnight you'd got home. Been everywhere and come back wealthy? The boysused to say you was off pirating. "

"No such luck, " answered Richard, with a smile. "I didn't prey onthe high seas, --quite the contrary. The high sea captured my kit andfour years' savings. I will tell you about it some day. If I have alimb to my name and a breath left to my body, it is no thanks to theIndian Ocean. That is all I have got, Will, and I am looking aroundfor bread and butter, --literally bread and butter. "

"No? and the old gentleman so rich!"

Durgin said this with sincere indignation, and was perhapsunconscious himself of experiencing that nameless, shadowysatisfaction which Rochefoucauld says we find in the adversity of ourbest friends. Certainly Richard looked very seedy in his suit ofslop-shop clothes. 

"I was on my way to Mr. Slocum's to see if I could do anythingwith him, " Richard continued. 

"To get a job, do you mean?"

"Yes, to get work, --to learn _how_ to work; to master atrade, in short. "

"You can't be an apprentice, you know, " said Durgin. 

"Why not?"

"Slocum has two. "

"Suppose he should happen to want another? He might. "

"The Association wouldn't allow it. "

"What Association?"

"The Marble Workers' Association, of course. "

_"They_ wouldn't allow it! How is that?"

"This the way of it. Slocum is free to take on two apprenticesevery year, but no more. That prevents workmen increasing too fast, and so keeps up wages. The Marble Workers' Association is a very neatthing, I can tell you. "

"But doesn't Mr. Slocum own the yard? I thought he did. "

"Yes, he owns the yard. "

"If he wished to extend the business, couldn't he employ morehands?"

"As many as he could get, --skilled workmen; but not apprentices. "

"And Mr. Slocum agrees to that?" inquired Richard. 

"He does. "

"And likes it?"

"Not he, --he hates it; but he can't help himself. "

"Upon my soul, I don't see what prevents him taking on as manyapprentices as he wants to. "

"Why, the Association, to be sure, " returned Durgin, glancing atthe town clock, which marked seven minutes past the hour. 

"But how could they stop him?"

"In plenty of ways. Suppose Slocum has a lot of unfinishedcontracts on hand, --he always has fat contracts, --and the men was toknock off work. That would be kind of awkward, wouldn't it?"

"For a day or two, yes. He could send out of town for hands, "suggested Richard. 

"And they wouldn't come, if the Association said 'Stay where youare. ' They are mostly in the ring. Some outsiders might come, though. "

"Then what?"

"Why, then the boys would make it pretty hot for them inStillwater. Don't you notice?"

"I notice there is not much chance for me, " said Richard, despondingly. "Isn't that so?"

"Can't say. Better talk with Slocum. But I must get along; I haveto be back sharp at one. I want to hear about your knocking aroundthe worst kind. Can't we meet somewhere tonight, --at the tavern?"

"The tavern? That didn't used to be a quiet place. "

"It isn't quiet now, but there's nowhere else to go of a night. It's a comfortable den, and there's always some capital fellowsdropping in. A glass of lager with a mate is not a bad thing after ahard day's work. "

"Both are good things when they are of the right sort. "

"That's like saying I'm not the right sort, isn't it?"

"I meant nothing of the kind. But I don't take to the tavern. Notthat I'm squeamish; I have lived four years among sailors, and havebeen in rougher places than you ever dreamed of; but all the same Iam afraid of the tavern. I've seen many a brave fellow wrecked onthat reef. "

"You always was a bit stuck up, " said Durgin candidly. 

"Not an inch. I never had much reason to be; and less now thanever, when I can scarcely afford to drink water, let alone beer. Iwill drop round to your mother's some evening--I hope she'swell, --and tell you of my ups and downs. That will be pleasanter forall hands. "

"Oh, as you like. "

"Now for Mr. Slocum, though you have taken the wind out of me. "

The two separated, Durgin with a half smile on his lip, andRichard in a melancholy frame of mind. He passed from thegrass-fringed street into the deserted marble yard, where it seemedas if the green summer had suddenly turned into white winter, andthreading his way between the huge drifts of snowy stone, knocked atthe door of Mr. Slocum's private office. 

William Durgin had summed up the case fairly enough as it stoodbetween the Marble Workers' Association and Rowland Slocum. Thesystem of this branch of the trades-union kept trained workmencomparatively scarce, and enabled them to command regular and evenadvanced prices at periods when other trades were depressed. Theolder hands looked upon a fresh apprentice in the yard with much thesame favor as workingmen of the era of Jacquard looked upon theintroduction of a new piece of machinery. Unless the apprentice hadexceptional tact, he underwent a rough novitiate. In any case heserved a term of social ostracism before he was admitted to fullcomradeship. Mr. Slocum could easily have found openings each yearfor a dozen learners, had the matter been under his control; but itwas not. "I am the master of each man individually, " he declared, "but collectively they are my master. " So his business, instead ofnaturally spreading and becoming a benefit to the many, was keptcarefully pruned down to the benefit of the few. He was often forcedto decline important contracts, the filling of which would haveresulted to the advantage of every person in the village. 

Mr. Slocum recognized Richard at once, and listened kindly to hisstory. It was Mr. Slocum's way to listen kindly to every one; but hewas impressed with Richard's intelligence and manner, and becamedesirous, for several reasons, to assist him. In the first place, there was room in the shops for another apprentice; experienced handswere on jobs that could have been as well done by beginners; and, inthe second place, Mr. Slocum had an intuition that Lemuel Shackfordwas not treating the lad fairly, though Richard had said nothing tothis effect. Now, Mr. Slocum and Mr. Shackford were just then atswords' points. 

"I don't suppose I could annoy Shackford more, " was Mr. Slocum'sreflection, "than by doing something for this boy, whom he has alwaysshamelessly neglected. "

The motive was not a high one; but Richard would have been wellsatisfied with it, if he could have divined it. He did divine thatMr. Slocum was favorably inclined towards him, and stood watchingthat gentleman's face with hopeful anxiety. 

"I have my regulation number of young men, Richard, " said Mr. Slocum, "and there will be no vacancy until autumn. If you could waita few months. "

Richard's head drooped. 

"Can't do that? You write a good hand, you say. Perhaps you couldassist the book-keeper until there's a chance for you in the yard. "

"I think I could, sir, " said Richard eagerly. 

"If you were only a draughtsman, now, I could do something muchbetter for you. I intend to set up a shop for ornamental carving, andI want some one to draw patterns. If you had a knack at designing, ifyou could draw at all"--

Richard's face lighted up. 

"Perhaps you _have_ a turn that way. I remember the queerthings you used to scratch in the mud in the court, when you were alittle shaver. Can you draw?"

"Why, that is the one thing I can do!" cried Richard, --"in a roughfashion, of course, " he added, fearing he had overstated it. 

"It is a rough fashion that will serve. You must let me see someof your sketches. "

"I haven't any, sir. I had a hundred in my sea-chest, but that waslost, --pencillings of old archways, cathedral spires, bits of frieze, and such odds and ends as took my fancy in the ports we touched at. Irecollect one bit. I think I could do it for you now. Shall I?"

Mr. Slocum nodded assent, smiling at the young fellow'senthusiasm, and only partially suspecting his necessity. Richardpicked up a pen and began scratching on a letter sheet which lay onthe desk. He was five or six minutes at the work, during which theelder man watched him with an amused expression. 

"It's a section of cornice on the façade of the Hindoo College atCalcutta, " said Richard, handing him the paper, --"no, it's thecustom-house. I forget which; but it doesn't matter. "

The amused look gradually passed out of Mr. Slocum's countenanceas he examined the sketch. It was roughly but clearly drawn, and fullof facility. "Why, that's very clever!" he said, holding it atarms'-length; and then, with great gravity, "I hope you are not agenius, Richard; that would be too much of a fine thing. If you arenot, you can be of service to me in my plans. "

Richard laughingly made haste to declare that to the best of hisknowledge and belief he was not a genius, and it was decided on thespot that Richard should assist Mr. Simms, the bookkeeper, andpresently try his hand at designing ornamental patterns for thecarvers, Mr. Slocum allowing him apprentice wages until the qualityof his work should be ascertained. 

"It is very little, " said Mr. Slocum, "but it will pay your board, if you do not live at home. "

"I shall not remain at my cousin's, " Richard replied, "if you callthat home. "

"I can imagine it is not much of a home. Your cousin, not to puttoo fine a point on it, is a wretch. "

"I am sorry to hear you say that, sir; he's my only livingkinsman. "

"You are fortunate in having but one, then. However, I am wrong toabuse him to you; but I cannot speak of him with moderation, he hasjust played me such a despicable trick. Look here. "

Mr. Slocum led Richard to the door, and pointing to a row of newworkshops which extended the entire length of one side of the marbleyard, said, --

"I built these last spring. After the shingles were on wediscovered that the rear partition, for a distance of seventy-fivefeet, overlapped two inches on Shackford's meadow. I was ready todrop when I saw it, your cousin is such an unmanageable old fiend. Ofcourse I went to him immediately, and what do you think? He demandedfive hundred dollars for that strip of land! Five hundred dollars fora few inches of swamp meadow not worth ten dollars the acre! 'Thentake your disreputable old mill off my property!' says Shackford, --hecalled it a disreputable old mill! I was hasty, perhaps, and I toldhim to go to the devil. He said he would, and he did; for he went toBlandmann. When the lawyers got hold of it, they bothered the lifeout of me; so I just moved the building forward two inches, at anexpense of seven hundred dollars. Then what does the demon do butboard up all my windows opening on the meadow! Richard, I make it acondition that you shall not lodge at Shackford's. "

"Nothing could induce me to live another day in the same housewith him, sir, " answered Richard, suppressing an inclination tosmile; and then seriously, "His bread is bitter. "

Richard went back with a light heart to Welch's Court. At the gateof the marble yard he met William Durgin returning to work. Thesteam-whistle had sounded the call, and there was no time forexchange of words; so Richard gave his comrade a bright nod andpassed by. Durgin turned and stared after him. 

"Looks as if Slocum had taken him on; but it never can be asapprentice; he wouldn't dare do it. "

Mr. Shackford had nearly finished his frugal dinner when Richardentered. "If you can't hit it to be in at your meals, " said Mr. Shackford, helping himself absently to the remaining chop, "perhapsyou had better stop away altogether. "

 "I can do that now, cousin, " replied Richard sunnily. "I haveengaged with Slocum. "

The old man laid down his knife and fork. 

"With Slocum! A Shackford a miserable marble-chipper!"

There was so little hint of the aristocrat in Lemuel Shackford'ssordid life and person that no one suspected him of even self-esteem. He went as meanly dressed as a tramp, and as careless of contemporarycriticism; yet clear down in his liver, or somewhere in his anatomy, he nourished an odd abstract pride in the family Shackford. Heavenknows why! To be sure, it dated far back; its women had always beenvirtuous, and its men, if not always virtuous, had always beenship-captains. But beyond this the family had never amounted toanything, and now there was so very little left of it. For Richard asRichard Lemuel cared nothing; for Richard as a Shackford he had achaotic feeling that defied analysis and had never before risen tothe surface. It was therefore with a disgust entirely apart from thehatred of Slocum or regard for Richard that the old man exclaimed, "AShackford a miserable marble-chipper!"

"That is better than hanging around the village with my hands inmy pockets. Isn't it?"

"I don't know that anybody has demanded that you should hangaround the village. "

"I ought to go away, you mean? But I have found work here, and Imight not find it elsewhere. "

"Stillwater is not the place to begin life in. It's the place togo away from, and come back to. "

"Well, I have come back. "

"And how? With one shirt and a lot of bad sailor habits. "

"My one shirt is my only very bad habit, " said Richard, with alaugh, --he could laugh now, --"and I mean to get rid of that. "

Mr. Shackford snapped his fingers disdainfully. 

"You ought to have stuck to the sea; that's respectable. In tenyears you might have risen to be master of a bark; that would havebeen honorable. You might have gone down in a gale, --you probablywould, --and that would have been fortunate. But a stone-cutter! Youcan understand, " growled Mr. Shackford, reaching out for his strawhat, which he put on and crushed over his brows, "I don't keep aboarding-house for Slocum's hands. "

"Oh, I'm far from asking it!" cried Richard. "I am thankful forthe two nights' shelter I have had. "

"That's some of your sarcasm, I suppose, " said Mr. Shackford, halfturning, with his hands on the door-knob. 

"No, it is some of my sincerity. I am really obliged to you. Youweren't very cordial, to be sure, but I did not deserve cordiality. "

"You have figured that out correctly. "

"I want to begin over again, you see, and start fair. "

"Then begin by dropping Slocum. "

"You have not given me a chance to tell you what the arrangementis. However, it's irrevocable. "

"I don't want to hear. I don't care a curse, so long as it is anarrangement, " and Mr. Shackford hurried out of the room, slamming thedoor behind him. 

Then Richard, quite undisturbed by his cousin's unreasonableness, sat himself down to eat the last meal he was ever to eat under thatroof, --a feat which his cousin's appetite had rendered comparativelyeasy. 

While engaged in this, Richard resolved in his mind severalquestions as to his future abode. He could not reconcile his thoughtto any of the workingmen's boarding-houses, of which there were fiveor six in the slums of the village, where the doorways were greasy, and women flitted about in the hottest weather with thick woolenshawls over their heads. Yet his finances did not permit him toaspire to lodgings much more decent. If he could only secure a smallroom somewhere in a quiet neighborhood. Possibly Mrs. Durgin wouldlet him have a chamber in her cottage. He was beginning life overagain, and it struck him as nearly an ideal plan to begin it on theidentical spot where he had, in a manner, made his first start. Besides, there was William Durgin for company, when the long nightsof the New England winter set in. The idea smiled so pleasantly inRichard's fancy that he pushed the plate away from him impatiently, and picked up his hat which lay on the floor beside the chair. 

That evening he moved from the Shackford house to Mrs. Durgin'scottage in Cross Street. It was not an imposing ceremony. With asmall brown-paper parcel under his arm, he walked from one thresholdto the other, and the thing was done. 

VIII

The six months which followed Richard's installment in the officeat Slocum's Yard were so crowded with novel experience that hescarcely noted their flight. The room at the Durgins, as willpresently appear, turned out an unfortunate arrangement; buteverything else had prospered. Richard proved an efficient aid to Mr. Simms, who quietly shifted the pay-roll to the younger man'sshoulders. This was a very complicated account to keep, involving asit did a separate record of each employee's time and special work. Anancient bookkeeper parts lightly with such trifles when he has acapable assistant. It also fell to Richard's lot to pay the hands onSaturdays. William Durgin blinked his surprise on the first occasion, as he filed in with the others and saw Richard posted at the desk, with the pay-roll in his hand and the pile of greenbacks lying infront of him. 

"I suppose you'll be proprietor next, " remarked Durgin, thatevening, at the supper table. 

"When I am, Will, " answered Richard cheerily, "you will be on theroad to foreman of the finishing shop. "

"Thank you, " said Durgin, not too graciously. It grated on him toplay the part of foreman, even in imagination, with Dick Shackford asproprietor. Durgin could not disconnect his friend from that seedy, half-crestfallen figure to whom, a few months earlier, he had givenelementary instruction on the Marble Workers' Association. 

Richard did not find his old schoolmate so companionable as memoryand anticipation had painted him. The two young men moved ondifferent levels. Richard's sea life, now that he had got at asufficient distance from it, was a perspective full of pleasantcolor; he had a taste for reading, a thirst to know things, and hisworld was not wholly shut in by the Stillwater horizon. It was stilla pitifully narrow world, but wide compared with Durgin's, whichextended no appreciable distance in any direction from the Stillwaterhotel. He spent his evenings chiefly there, returning home late atnight, and often in so noisy a mood as to disturb Richard, who sleptin an adjoining apartment. This was an annoyance; and it was anannoyance to have Mrs. Durgin coming to him with complaints ofWilliam. Other matters irritated Richard. He had contrived toreplenish his wardrobe, and the sunburn was disappearing from hishands, which the nature of his occupation left soft and unscarred. Durgin was disposed at times to be sarcastic on these changes, butalways stopped short of actual offense; for he remembered thatShackford when a boy, amiable and patient as he was, had had atiger's temper at bottom. Durgin had seen it roused once or twice, and even received a chance sweep of the paw. Richard liked Durgin'srough wit as little as Durgin relished Richard's good-naturedbluntness. It was a mistake, that trying to pick up the droppedthread of old acquaintance. 

As soon as the permanency of his position was assured, and hismeans warranted the step, Richard transported himself and his effectsto a comfortable chamber in the same house with Mr. Pinkham, theschool-master, the perpetual falsetto of whose flute was positivelysoothing after four months of William Durgin's bass. Mr. Pinkhamhaving but one lung, and that defective, played on the flute. 

"You see what you've gone and done, William, " remarked Mrs. Durginplaintively, "with your ways. There goes the quietest young man inStillwater, and four dollars a week!"

"There goes a swell, you'd better say. He was always a proudbeggar; nobody was ever good enough for him. "

"You shouldn't say that, William. I could cry, to lose him and hischeerfulness out of the house, " and Mrs. Durgin began to whimper. 

"Wait till he's out of luck again, and he'll come back to us fastenough. That's when his kind remembers their friends. Blast him! hecan't even take a drop of beer with a chum at the tavern. "

"And right, too. There's beer enough taken at the tavern withouthim. "

"If you mean me, mother, I'll get drunk tonight. "

"No, no!" cried Mrs. Durgin, pleadingly, "I didn't mean you, William, but Peters and that set. "

"I thought you couldn't mean me, " said William, thrusting hishands into the pockets of his monkey-jacket, and sauntering off inthe direction of the Stillwater hotel, where there was a choicecompany gathered, it being Saturday night, and the monthly meeting ofthe Union. 

Mr. Slocum had wasted no time in organizing a shop for hisexperiment in ornamental carving. Five or six men, who had workedelsewhere at this branch, were turned over to the new department, with Stevens as foreman and Richard as designer. Very shortly Richardhad as much as he could do to furnish the patterns required. Theseconsisted mostly of scrolls, wreaths, and mortuary dove-wings forhead-stones. Fortunately for Richard he had no genius, but plenty ofa kind of talent just abreast with Mr. Slocum's purpose. As thecarvers became interested in their work, they began to show Richardthe respect and good-will which at first had been withheld, for theyhad not quite liked being under the supervision of one who had notserved at the trade. His youth had also told against him; butRichard's pleasant, off-hand manner quickly won them. He had come incontact with rough men on shipboard; he had studied their ways, andhe knew that with all their roughness there is no class so sensitive. This insight was of great service to him. Stevens, who had perhapsbeen the least disposed to accept Richard, was soon his warm ally. 

"See what a smooth fist the lad has!" he said one day holding up anew drawing to the shop. "A man with a wreath of them acorns on hishead-stone oughter be perfectly happy, damn him!"

It was, however, an anchor with a broken chain pendent--a designfor a monument to the late Captain Septimius Salter, who had partedhis cable at sea--which settled Richard's status with Stevens. 

"Boys, that Shackford is what I call a born genei. "

After all, is not the one-eyed man who is king among the blind themost fortunate of monarchs? Your little talent in a provincialvillage looms a great deal taller than your mighty genius in a city. Richard Whackford working for Rowland Slocum at Stillwater washappier than Michaelangelo in Rome with Pope Julius II. At his back. And Richard was the better paid, too!

One day he picked up a useful hint from a celebrated sculptor, whohad come to the village in search of marble for the base of asoldiers' monument. Richard was laboriously copying a spray of fern, the delicacy of which eluded his pencil. The sculptor stood a momentsilently observing him. 

"Why do you spend an hour doing only passably well what you coulddo perfectly in ten minutes?"

"I suppose it is because I am stupid, sir, " said Richard. 

"No stupid man ever suspected himself of being anything butclever. You can draw capitally; but nature beats you out and out atdesigning ferns. Just ask her to make you a fac-simile in plaster, and see how handily she will lend herself to the job. Of course youmust help her a little. "

"Oh, I am not above giving nature a lift, " said Richard modestly. 

"Lay a cloth on your table, place the fern on the cloth, and poura thin paste of plaster of Paris over the leaf, --do that gently, soas not to disarrange the spray. When the plaster is set, there's yourmold; remove the leave, oil the matrix, and pour in fresh plaster. When that is set, cut away tdhe mold carefully, and there's yourspray of fern, as graceful and perfect as if nature had done it allby herself. You get the very texture of the leaf by this process. "

After that, Richard made casts instead of drawings for thecarvers, and fancied he was doing a new thing, until he visited somemarble-works in the great city. 

At this period, whatever change subsequently took place in hisfeeling, Richard was desirous of establishing friendly relations withhis cousin. The young fellow's sense of kinship was singularlystrong, and it was only after several repulses at the door of theShackford house and on the street that he relinquished the hope ofplacating the sour old man. At times Richard was moved almost to pityhim. Every day Mr. Shackford seemed to grow shabbier and morespectral. He was a grotesque figure now, in his napless hat andbroken-down stock. The metal button-holes on his ancient waistcoathad worn their way through the satin coverings, leaving here andthere a sparse fringe around the edges, and somehow suggesting littlebald heads. Looking at him, you felt that the inner man was asthreadbare and dilapidated as his outside; but in his lonely old agehe asked for no human sympathy or companionship, and, in fact, stoodin no need of either. With one devouring passion he set the world atdefiance. He loved his gold, --the metal itself, the weight an colorand touch of it. In his bedroom on the ground-floor Mr. Shackfordkept a small iron-clamped box filled to the lid with bright yellowcoins. Often, at the dead of night, with door bolted and curtaindown, he would spread out the glittering pieces on the table, andbend over them with an amorous glow in his faded eyes. These were hisblond mistresses; he took a fearful joy in listening to theirrustling, muffle laughter as he drew them towards him with eagerhands. If at that instant a blind chanced to slam, or a footfall toecho in the lonely court, then the withered old sultan would hurryhis slaves back into their iron-bound seraglio, and extinguish thelight. It would have been a wasted tenderness to pity him. He wasvery happy in his own way, that Lemuel Shackford. 

IX

Towards the close of his second year with Mr. Slocum, Richard wasassigned a work-room by himself, and relieved of his accountant'sduties. His undivided energies were demanded by the carvingdepartment, which had proved a lucrative success. 

The rear of the lot on which Mr. Slocum's house stood was shut offfrom the marble yard by a high brick wall pierced with a private doorfor Mr. Slocum's convenience. Over the kitchen in the extension, which reached within a few feet of the wall, was a disused chamber, approachable on the outside by a flight of steps leading to averanda. To this room Richard and his traps were removed. With around table standing in the center, with the plaster models arrangedon shelves and sketches in pencil and crayon tacked against thewhitewashed walls, the apartment was transformed into a delightfulatelier. An open fire-place, with a brace of antiquated iron-dogsstraddling the red brick hearth, gave the finishing touch. Theoccupant was in easy communication with the yard, from which the busydin of clinking chisels came u musically to his ear, and was stillbeyond the reach of unnecessary interruption. Richard saw clearly allthe advantages of this transfer, but he was far form having anyintimation that he had made the most important move of his life. 

The room had two doors: one opened on the veranda, and the otherinto a narrow hall connecting the extension with the main building. Frequently, that first week after taking possession, Richard detectedthe sweep of a broom and the rustle of drapery in this passage-way, the sound sometimes hushing itself quite close to the door, as ifsome one had paused a moment just outside. He wondered whether it wasthe servant-maid or Margaret Slocum, whom he knew very well by sight. It was, in fact, Margaret, who was dying with the curiosity offourteen to peep into the studio, so carefully locked whenever theyoung man left it, --dying with curiosity to see the workshop, andstanding in rather great awe of the workman. 

In the home circle her father had a habit of speaking with deeprespect of young Shackford's ability, and once she had seen him attheir table, --at a Thanksgiving. On this occasion Richard hadappalled her by the solemnity of his shyness, --poor Richard, who wasso unused to the amenities of a handsomely served dinner, that thechill which came over him cooled the Thanksgiving turkey on hispalate. 

When it had been decided that he was to have the spare room forhis workshop, Margaret, with womanly officiousness, had swept it anddusted it and demolished the cobwebs; but since then she had not beenable to obtain so much as a glimpse of the interior. A ten minutes'sweeping had sufficed for the chamber, but the passage-way seemed inquite an irreclaimable state, judging by the number of times it wasnecessary to sweep it in the course of a few days. Now Margaret wasnot an unusual mixture of timidity and daring; so one morning, abouta week after Richard was settled, she walked with quaking heart up tothe door of the studio, and knocked as bold as brass. 

Richard opened the door, and smiled pleasantly at Margaretstanding on the threshold with an expression of demure defiance inher face. Did Mr. Shackford want anything more in the way of pans andpails for his plaster? No, Mr. Shackford had everything he requiredof the kind. But would not Miss Margaret walk in? Yes, she would stepin for a moment, but with a good deal of indifference, though, givingan air of chance to her settled determination to examine that roomfrom top to bottom. 

Richard showed her his drawings and casts, and enlightened her onall the simple mysteries of the craft. Margaret, of whom he was atrifle afraid at first, amused him with her candor and sedateness, seeming now a mere child, and now an elderly person gravelyinspecting matters. The frankness and simplicity were hers by nature, and the oldish ways--notably her self-possession, so quick to assertitself after an instant's forgetfulness--came perhaps of losing hermother in early childhood, and the premature duties which thatmisfortune entailed. She amused him, for she was only fourteen; butshe impressed him also, for she was Mr. Slocum's daughter. Yet it wasnot her lightness, but her gravity, that made Richard smile tohimself. 

"I am not interrupting you?" she asked presently. 

"Not in the least, " said Richard. "I am waiting for these molds toharden. I cannot do anything until then. "

"Papa says you are very clever, " remarked Margaret, turning herwide black eyes full upon him. _"Are_ you?"

"Far from it, " replied Richard, laughing to veil his confusion, "but I am glad your father thinks so. "

"You should not be glad to have him think so, " returned Margaretreprovingly, "if you are not clever. I suppose you are, though. Tellthe truth, now. "

"It is not fair to force a fellow into praising himself. "

"You are trying to creep out!"

"Well, then, there are many cleverer persons than I in the world, and a few not so clever. "

"That won't do, " said Margaret positively. 

"I don't understand what you mean by cleverness, Miss Margaret. There are a great many kinds and degrees. I can make fairly honestpatterns for the men to work by; but I am not an artist, if you meanthat. "

"You are not an artist?"

"No; an artist creates, and I only copy, and that in a small way. Any one can learn to prepare casts; but to create a bust or astatue--that is to say, a fine one--a man must have genius. "

"You have no genius?"

"Not a grain. "

"I am sorry to hear that, " said Margaret, with a disappointedlook. "But perhaps it will come, " she added encouragingly. "I haveread that nearly all great artists and poets are almost alwaysmodest. They know better than anybody else how far they fall short ofwhat they intend, and so they don't put on airs. You don't, either. Ilike that in you. May be you have genius without knowing it, Mr. Shackford. "

"It is quite without knowing it, I assure you!" protested Richard, with suppressed merriment. "What an odd girl!" he thought. "She isactually talking to me like a mother!"

The twinkling light in the young man's eyes, or something thatjarred in his manner, caused Margaret at once to withdraw intoherself. She went silently about the room, examining the tools andpatterns; then, nearing the door, suddenly dropped Richard a quaintlittle courtesy, and was gone. 

This was the colorless beginning of a friendship that was destinedspeedily to be full of tender lights and shadows, and to flow on withunsuspected depth. For several days Richard saw nothing more ofMargaret, and scarcely thought of her. The strangle little figure wasfading out of his mind, when, one afternoon, it again appeared at hisdoor. This time Margaret had left something of her sedateness behind;she struck Richard as being both less ripe and less immature than hehad fancied; she interested rather than amused him. Perhaps he hadbeen partially insulated by his own shyness on the first occasion, and had caught only a confused and inaccurate impression ofMargaret's personality. She remained half an hour in the workshop, and at her departure omitted the formal courtesy. 

After this, Margaret seldom let a week slip without tapping onceor twice at the studio, at first with some pretext or other, and thenwith no pretense whatever. When Margaret had disburdened herself ofexcuses for dropping in to watch Richard mold his leaves and flowers, she came oftener, and Richard insensibly drifted into the habit ofexpecting her on certain days, and was disappointed when she failedto appear. His industry had saved him, until now, from discoveringhow solitary his life really was; for his life was as solitary--assolitary as that of Margaret, who lived in the great house with onlyher father, the two servants, and an episodical aunt. The mother waslong ago dead; Margaret could not recollect when that gray headstone, with blotches of rusty-green moss breaking out over the lettering, was not in the churchyard; and there never had been any brothers orsisters. 

To Margaret Richard's installation in the empty room, where as achild she had always been afraid to go, was the single importantbreak she could remember in the monotony of her existence; and now avague yearning for companionship, the blind sense of the plantreaching towards the sunshine, drew her there. The tacitly prescribedhalf hour often lengthened to an hour. Sometimes Margaret brought abook with her, or a piece of embroidery, and the two spoke scarcelyten words, Richard giving her a smile now and then, and she returninga sympathetic nod as the cast came out successfully. 

Margaret at fifteen--she was fifteen now--was not a beauty. Thereis the loveliness of the bud and the loveliness of the full-blownflower; but Margaret as a blossom was not pretty. She was awkward andangular, with prominent shoulder-blades, and no soft curves anywherein her slimness; only her black hair, growing low on the forehead, and her eyes were fine. Her profile, indeed, with the narrow foreheadand the sensitive upper lip, might fairly have suggested the mask ofClytie which Richard had bought of an itinerant image-dealer, andfixed on a bracket over the mantel-shelf. But her eyes were herspecialty, if one may say that. They were fringed with such heavylashes that the girl seemed always to be in half-mourning. Her smilewas singularly sweet and bright, perhaps because it broke through somuch somber coloring. 

If there was a latent spark of sentiment between Richard andMargaret in those earlier days, neither was conscious of it; they hadseemingly begun where happy lovers generally end, --by being dearcomrades. He liked to have Margaret sitting there, with her needleflashing in the sunlight, or her eyelashes making a rich gloom abovethe book as she read aloud. It was so agreeable to look up from hiswork, and not be alone. He had been alone so much. And Margaret foundnothing in the world pleasanter than to sit there and watch Richardmaking his winter garden, as she called it. By and by it became hercustom to pass every Saturday afternoon in that employment. 

Margaret was not content to be merely a visitor; she took ahousewifely care of the workshop, resolutely straightening out itschronic disorder at unexpected moments, and fighting the white dustthat settled upon everything. The green-paper shade, which did notroll up very well, at the west window was of her devising. An emptycamphor vial on Richard's desk had always a clove pink, or a pansy, or a rose, stuck into it, according to the season. She hid herselfaway and peeped out in a hundred feminine things in the room. Sometimes she was a bit of crochet-work left on a chair, andsometimes she was only a hair-pin, which Richard gravely picked upand put on the mantel-piece. 

Mr. Slocum threw no obstacles in the path of this idyllicfriendship; possibly he did not observe it. In his eyes Margaret wasstill a child, --a point of view that necessarily excluded anyconsideration of Richard. Perhaps, however, if Mr. Slocum could haveassisted invisibly at a pretty little scene which took place in thestudio, one day, some twelve or eighteen months after Margaret'sfirst visit to it, he might have found food for reflection. 

It was a Saturday afternoon. Margaret had come into the workshopwith her sewing, as usual. The papers on the round table had beenneatly cleared away, and Richard was standing by the window, indolently drumming on the glass with a palette-knife. 

"Not at work this afternoon?"

"I was waiting for you. "

"That is no excuse at all, " said Margaret, sweeping across theroom with a curious air of self-consciousness, and arranging herdrapery with infinite pains as she seated herself. 

Richard looked puzzled for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Margaret, you have got on a long dress!"

"Yes, " said Margaret, with dignity. "Do you like it, --the train?"

"That's a train?"

"Yes, " said Margaret, standing up and glancing over her leftshoulder at the soft folds of maroon-colored stuff, which, with amysterious feminine movement of the foot, she caused to untwistitself and flow out gracefully behind her. There was really somethingvery pretty in the hesitating lines of the tall, slender figure, asshe leaned back that way. Certain unsuspected points emphasizedthemselves so cunningly. 

"I never saw anything finer, " declared Richard. "It was worthwaiting for. "

"But you shouldn't have waited, " said Margaret, with a gratifiedflush, settling herself into the chair again. "It was understood thatyou were never to let me interfere with your work. "

"You see you have, by being twenty minutes late. I've finishedthat acorn border for Stevens's capitals, and there's nothing more todo for the yard. I am going to make something for myself, and I wantyou to lend me a hand. "

"How can I help you, Richard?" Margaret asked, promptly stoppingthe needle in the hem. 

"I need a paper-weight to keep my sketches from being blown about, and I wish you literally to lend me a hand, --a hand to take a castof. "

"Really?"

"I think that little white claw would make a very neatpaper-weight, " said Richard. 

Margaret gravely rolled up her sleeve to the elbow, andcontemplated the hand and wrist critically. 

"It is like a claw, isn't it. I think you can find somethingbetter than that. "

"No; that is what I want, and nothing else. That, or nopaper-weight for me. "

"Very well, just as you choose. It will be a fright. "

"The other hand, please. "

"I gave you the left because I've a ring on this one. "

"You can take off the ring, I suppose. "

"Of course I can take it off. "

"Well, then, do. "

"Richard, " said Margaret severely, "I hope you are not a fidget. "

"A what?"

"A fuss, then, --a person who always wants everything some otherway, and makes just twice as much trouble as anybody else. "

"No, Margaret, I am not that. I prefer your right hand because theleft is next to the heart, and the evaporation of the water in theplaster turns it as cold as snow. Your arm will be chilled to theshoulder. We don't want to do anything to hurt the good little heart, you know. "

"Certainly not, " said Margaret. "There!" and she rested her rightarm on the table, while Richard placed the hand in the desiredposition on a fresh napkin which he had folded for the purpose. 

"Let your hand lie flexible, please. Hold it naturally. Why do youstiffen the fingers so?"

"I don't; they stiffen themselves, Richard. They know they aregoing to have their photograph taken, and can't look natural. Whoever does?"

After a minute the fingers relaxed, and settled of their ownaccord into an easy pose. Richard laid his hand softly on her wrist. 

"Don't move now. "

"I'll be as quiet as a mouse, " said Margaret giving a sudden queerlittle glance at his face. 

Richard emptied a paper of white powder into a great yellow bowlhalf filled with water and fell to stirring it vigorously, like apastry-cook beating eggs. When the plaster was of the properconsistency he began building it up around the hand, pouring on aspoonful at a time, here and there, carefully. In a minute or two theinert white fingers were completely buried. Margaret made a comicalgrimace. 

"Is it cold?"

"Ice, " said Margaret, shutting her eyes involuntarily. 

"If it is too disagreeable we can give it up, " suggested Richard. 

"No, don't touch it!" she cried, waving him back with her freearm. "I don't mind; but it's as cold as so much snow. How curious!What does it?"

"I suppose a scientific fellow could explain the matter to youeasily enough. When the water evaporates a kind of congealing processsets in, --a sort of atmospheric change, don't you know? The suddenprecipitation of the--the"--

"You're as good as Tyndall on Heat, " said Margaret demurely. 

"Oh, Tyndall is well enough in his way, " returned Richard, "but ofcourse he doesn't go into things so deeply as I do. "

"The idea of telling me that 'a congealing process set in, ' when Iam nearly frozen to death!" cried Margaret, bowing her head over theimprisoned arm. 

"Your unseemly levity, Margaret, makes it necessary for me todefer my remarks on natural phenomena until some more fittingoccasion. "

"Oh, Richard, don't let an atmospherical change come over_you!"_

"When you knocked at my door, months ago, " said Richard, "I didn'tdream you were such a satirical little piece, or may be you wouldn'thave got in. You stood there as meek as Moses, with your frockreaching only to the tops of your boots. You were a deception, Margaret. "

"I was dreadfully afraid of you, Richard. "

"You are not afraid of me nowadays. "

"Not a bit. "

"You are showing your true colors. That long dress, too! I believethe train has turned your head. "

"But just now you said you admired it. "

"So I did, and do. It makes you look quite like a woman, though. "

"I want to be a woman. I would like to be as old--as old as Mrs. Methuselah. Was there a Mrs. Methuselah?"

"I really forget, " replied Richard, considering. "But there musthave been. The old gentleman had time enough to have several. Ibelieve, however, that history is rather silent about his domesticaffairs. "

"Well, then, " said Margaret, after thinking it over, "I would liketo be as old as the youngest Mrs. Methuselah. "

"That was probably the last one, " remarked Richard, with greatprofundity. "She was probably some giddy young thing of seventy oreighty. Those old widowers never take a wife of their own age. Ishouldn't want you to be seventy, Margaret, --or even eighty. "

"On the whole, perhaps, I shouldn't fancy it myself. Do youapprove of persons marrying twice?"

"N--o, not at the same time. "

"Of course I didn't mean that, " said Margaret, with asperity. "Howprovoking you can be!"

"But they used to, --in the olden time, don't you know?"

"No, I don't. "

Richard burst out laughing. "Imagine him, " he cried, --"imagineMethuselah in his eight or nine hundredth year, dressed in hiscustomary bridal suit, with a sprig of century-plant stuck in hisbutton-hole!"

"Richard, " said Margaret solemnly, "you shouldn't speak jestinglyof a scriptural character. "

At this Richard broke out again. "But gracious me!" he exclaimed, suddenly checking himself. "I am forgetting you all this while!"

Richard hurriedly reversed the mass of plaster on the table, andreleased Margaret's half-petrified fingers. They were shriveled andcolorless with the cold. 

"There isn't any feeling in it whatever, " said Margaret, holdingup her hand helplessly, like a wounded wing. 

Richard took the fingers between his palms, and chafed themsmartly for a moment or two to restore the suspended circulation. 

"There, that will do, " said Margaret, withdrawing her hand. 

"Are you all right now?"

"Yes, thanks;" and then she added, smiling, "I suppose ascientific fellow could explain why my fingers seem to be full of hotpins and needles shooting in every direction. "

"Tyndall's your man--Tyndall on Heat, " answered Richard, with alaugh, turning to examine the result of his work. "The mold isperfect, Margaret. You were a good girl to keep so still. "

Richard then proceeded to make the cast, which was soon placed onthe window ledgde to harden in the sun. When the plaster was set, hecautiously chipped off the shell with a chisel, Margaret leaning overhis shoulder to watch the operation, --and there was the little whiteclaw, which ever after took such dainty care of his papers, andultimately became so precious to him as a part of Margaret's veryself that he would not have exchanged it for the Venus of Milo. 

But as yet Richard was far enough from all that. 

X

Three years glided by with Richard Shackford as swiftly as thoseperiods of time which are imagined to elapse between the acts of aplay. They were eventless, untroubled years, and have no history. Nevertheless, certain changes had taken place. Little by little Mr. Slocum had relinquished the supervision of the workshops to Richard, until now the affairs of the yard rested chiefly on his shoulders. Itwas like a dream to him when he looked directly back to his humblebeginning, though as he reflected upon it, and retraced his progressstep by step, he saw there was nothing illogical or astonishing inhis good fortune. He had won it by downright hard work and thefaithful exercise of a sufficing talent. 

In his relations with Margaret, Richard's attitude had undergoneno appreciable change. Her chance visits to the studio through theweek and those pleasant, half-idle Saturday afternoons had become toboth Richard and Margaret a matter of course, like the sunlight, orthe air they breathed. 

To Richard, Margaret Slocum at nineteen was simply a charming, frank girl, --a type of gracious young womanhood. He was conscious ofher influence; he was very fond of Margaret; but she had not yettaken on for him that magic individuality which makes a woman the onewoman in the world to her lover. Though Richard had scant experiencein such matters, he was not wrong in accepting Margaret as the typeof a class of New England girls, which, fortunately for New England, is not a small class. These young women for the most part lead quietand restricted lives so far as the actualities are concerned, butvery deep and full lives in the world of books and imagination, towhich they make early escapes. They have the high instincts that comeof good blood, the physique that naturally fits fine manners; andwhen chance takes one of these maidens from her island country homeor from some sleepy town on the sea-board, and sets her amid thecomplications of city existence, she is an unabashed and unassuminglady. If in Paris, she differs from the Parisiennes only in thegreater delicacy of her lithe beauty, her innocence which is notignorance, and her French pronunciation; if in London, she differsfrom English girls only in the matter of rosy cheeks and the risinginflection. Should none of these fortunate transplantings befall her, she always merits them by adorning with grace and industry andintelligence the narrower sphere to which destiny has assigned her. 

Destiny had assigned Margaret Slocum to a very narrow sphere; ithad shut her up in an obscure New England manufacturing village, withno society, strictly speaking, and no outlets whatever to largeexperiences. To her father's affection, Richard's friendship, and herhousehold duties she was forced to look for her happiness. If lifeheld wider possibilities for her, she had not dreamed of them. Shelooked up to Richard with respect, --perhaps with a dash of sentimentin the respect; there was something at once gentle and virile in hischaracter which she admired and leaned upon; in his presence thesmall housekeeping troubles always slipped from her; but her heart, to use a pretty French phrase, had not consciously spoken, --possiblyit had murmured a little, incoherently, to itself, but it had notspoken out aloud, as perhaps it would have done long ago if animpediment had been placed in the way of their intimacy. With all hersubtler intuitions, Margaret was as far as Richard from suspectingthe strength and direction of the current with which they weredrifting. Freedom, habit, and the nature of their environmentconspired to prolong this mutual lack of perception. The hour hadsounded, however, when these two were to see each other in adifferent light. 

One Monday morning in March, at the close of the three years inquestion, as Richard mouinted the outside staircase leading to hisstudio in the extension, the servant-maid beckoned to him from thekitchen window. 

Margaret had failed to come to the studio the previous Saturdayafternoon. Richard had worked at cross-purposes and returned to hisboarding-house vaguely dissatisfied, as always happened to him onthose rare occasions when she missed the appointment; but he hadthought little of the circumstance. Nor had he been disturbed onSunday at seeing the Slocum pew vacant during both services. Theheavy snow-storm which had begun the night before accounted for atleast Margaret's absence. 

"Mr. Slocum told me to tell you that he shouldn't be in the yardto-day, " said the girl. "Miss Margaret is very ill. "

"Ill!" Richard repeated, and the smile with which he had leanedover the rail towards the window went out instantly on his lip. 

"Dr. Weld was up with her until five o'clock this morning, " saidthe girl, fingering the corner of her apron. "She's that low. "

"What is the matter?"

"It's a fever. "

"What kind of fever?"

"I don't mind me what the doctor called it. He thinks it come fromsomething wrong with the drains. "

"He didn't say typhoid?"

"Yes, that's the name of it. "

Richard ascended the stairs with a slow step, and a momentafterwards stood stupidly in the middle of the workshop. "Margaret isgoing to die, " he said to himself, giving voice to the darkforeboding that had instantly seized upon him, and in a swift visionhe saw the end of all that simple, fortunate existence which he hadlived without once reflecting it could ever end. He mechanicallypicked up a tool from the table, and laid it down again. Then heseated himself on the low bench between the windows. It wasMargaret's favorite place; it was not four days since she sat therereading to him. Already it appeared long ago, --years and years ago. He could hardly remember when he did not have this heavy weight onhis heart. His life of yesterday abruptly presented itself to him asa reminiscence; he saw now how happy that life had been, and howlightly he had accepted it. It took to itself all that preciousquality of things irrevocably lost. 

The clamor of the bell in the South Church striking noon, and theshrilling of the steam-whistle softened by the thick-falling snow, roused Richard from his abstraction. He was surprised that it wasnoon. He rose from the bench and went home through the storm, scarcely heeding the sleet that snapped in his face like whip-lashes. Margaret was going to die!

 For four or five seeks the world was nearly a blank to RichardShackford. The insidious fever that came and went, bringing alternatedespair and hope to the watchers in the hushed room, was in his veinsalso. He passed the days between his lonely lodgings in Lime Streetand the studio, doing nothing, restless and apathetic by turns, butwith always a poignant sense of anxiety. He ceased to take anydistinct measurement of time further than to note that an interval ofmonths seemed to separate Monday from Monday. Meanwhile, if newpatterns had been required by the men, the work in the carvingdepartments would have come to a dead lock. 

At length the shadow lifted, and there fell a day of soft Mayweather when Margaret, muffled in shawls and as white as death, wasseated once more in her accustomed corner by the west window. She hadinsisted on being brought there the first practicable moment; nowhereelse in the house was such sunshine, and Mr. Slocum himself hadbrought her in his arms. She leaned back against the pillows, smilingfaintly. Her fingers lay locked on her lap, and the sunlight showedthrough the narrow transparent palace. It was as if her hands werefull of blush-roses. 

Richard breathed again, but not with so free a heart as before. What if she had died? He felt an immense pity for himself when hethought of that, and he thought of it continually as the days woreon. 

Either a great alteration had wrought itself in Margaret, orRichard beheld her through a clearer medium during the weeks ofconvalescence that followed. Was this the slight, sharp-faced girl heused to know? The eyes and the hair were the same; but the smile wasdeeper, and the pliant figure had lost its extreme slimness without asacrifice to its delicacy. The spring air was filling her veins withabundant health, and mantling her cheeks with a richer duskiness thanthey had ever worn. Margaret was positively handsome. Her beauty hadcome all in a single morning, like the crocuses. This beauty began toawe Richard; it had the effect of seeming to remove her further andfurther from him. He grew moody and restless when they were together, and was wretched alone. His constraint did not escape Margaret. Shewatched him, and wondered at his inexplicable depression when everyone in the household was rejoicing in her recovery. By and by thisdepression wounded her, but she was too spirited to show the hurt. She always brought a book with her now, in her visits to the studio;it was less awkward to read than to sit silent and unspoken to over apiece of needle-work. 

"How very odd you are!" said Margaret, one afternoon, closing thevolume which she had held mutely for several minutes, waiting forRichard to grasp the fact that she was reading aloud. 

"I odd!" protested Richard, breaking with a jerk from one of hislong reveries. "In what way?"

"As if I could explain--when you put the quotation suddenly, likethat. "

"I didn't intend to be abrupt. I was curious to know. And then thecharge itself was a trifle unexpected, if you will look at it. Butnever mind, " he added with a smile; "think it over, and tell meto-morrow. "

"No, I will tell you now, since you are willing to wait. "

"I wasn't really willing to wait, but I knew if I didn't pretendto be I should never get it out of you. "

"Very well, then; your duplicity is successful. Richard, I waspuzzled whre to begin with your oddities. "

"Begin at the beginning. "

"No, I will take the nearest. When a young lady is affable enoughto read aloud to you, the least you can do is to listen to her. Thatis a deference you owe to the author, when it happens to beHawthorne, to say nothing of the young lady. "

"But I _have_ been listening, Margaret. Every word!"

"Where did I leave off?"

"It was where--where the"--and Richard knitted his brows in thevain effort to remember--"where the young daguerreotypist, what's-his-name, took up his residence in the House of the SevenGables. "

"No, sir! You stand convicted. It was ten pages further on. Thelast words were, "--and Margaret read from the book, --

"'Good-night, cousin, ' said Phoebe, strangely affected byHepsibah's manner. 'If you being to love me, I am glad. '"

"There, sir! what do you say to that?"

Richard did not say anything, but he gave a guilty start, and shota rapid glance at Margaret coolly enjoying her triumph. 

"In the next place, " she continued soberly, after a pause, "Ithink it very odd in you not to reply to me, --oh, not now, for ofcourse you are without a word of justification; but at other times. Frequently, when I speak to you, you look at me so, " making a vacantlittle face, "and then suddenly disappear, --I don't mean bodily, butmentally. "

"I am no great talker at best, " said Richard with a helpless air. "I seldom speak unless I have something to say. "

"But other people do. I, for instance. "

"Oh, you, Margaret; that is different. When you talk I don't muchmind what you are talking about. "

"I like a neat, delicate compliment like that!"

"What a perverse girl you are to-day!" cried Richard. "You won'tunderstand me. I mean that your words and your voice are so pleasantthey make anything interesting, whether it's important or not. "

"If no one were to speak until he had something important tocommunicate, " observed Margaret, "conversation in this world wouldcome to a general stop. " Then she added, with a little ironicalsmile, "Even you, Richard, wouldn't be talking all the time. "

Formerly Margaret's light sarcasms, even when the struck himpoint-blank, used to amuse Richard, but now he winced at being merelygrazed. 

Margaret went on: "But it's not a bit necessary to be circular orinstructive--with me. I am interested in trivial matters, --in theweather, in my spring hat, in what you are going to do next, and thelike. One must occupy one's self with something. But you, Richard, nowadays you seem interested in nothing, and have nothing whatever tosay. "

Poor Richard! He had a great deal to say, but he did not know how, nor if it were wise to breathe it. Just three little words, murmuredor whispered, and the whole conditions would be changed. With thosefateful words uttered, what would be Margaret's probable attitude, and what Mr. Sclocum's? Though the line which formerly drew itselfbetween employer and employee had grown faint with time, it stillexisted in Richard's mind, and now came to the surface with greatdistinctness, like a word written in sympathetic ink. If he spoke, and Margaret was startled or offended, then there was an end to theirfree, unembarrassed intercourse, --perhaps an end to all intercourse. By keeping his secret in his breast he at least secured the present. But that was to risk everything. Any day somebody might come andcarry Margaret off under his very eyes. As he reflected on this, theshadow of John Dana, the son of the rich iron-manufacturer, etcheditself sharply upon Richard's imagination. Within the week young Danahad declared in the presence of Richard that "Margaret Slocum was anawfully nice little thing, " and the Othello in Richard's blood hadbeen set seething. Then his thought glanced from John Dana to Mr. Pinkham and the Rev. Arthur Langly, both of whom were assiduousvisitors at the house. The former had lately taken to accompanyingMargaret on the piano with his dismal little flute, and the latterwas perpetually making a moth of himself about her class atSunday-school. 

Richard stood with the edge of his chisel resting idly upon theplaster mold in front of him, pondering these things. Presently heheard Margaret's voice, as if somewhere in the distance, saying, --

"I have not finished yet, Richard. "

"Go on, " said Richard, falling to work again with a kind ofgalvanic action. "Go on, please. "

"I have a serious grievance. Frankly, I am hurt by yourpreoccupation and indifference, your want of openness orcordiality, --I don't know how to name it. You are the only person whoseems to be unaware that I escaped a great danger a month ago. I amobliged to remember all the agreeable hours I have spent in thestudio to keep off the impression that during my illness you got usedto not seeing me, and that now my presence somehow obstructs yourwork and annoys you. "

Richard threw his chisel on the bench, and crossed over to thewindow where Margaret was. 

"You are as wrong as you can be, " he said, looking down on herhalf-lifted face, from which a quick wave of color was subsiding; forthe abruptness of Richard's movement had startled her. 

"I am glad if I am wrong. "

"It is nearly an unforgivable thing to be as wide of the mark asyou are. Oh, Margaret, if you had died that time!"

"You would have been very sorry?"

"Sorry? No. That doesn't express it; one outlives mere sorrow. Ifanything had happened to you, I should never have got over it. Youdon't know what those five weeks were to me. It was a kind of deathto come to this room day after day, and not find you. "

Margaret rested her eyes thoughtfully on the space occupied byRichard rather than on Richard himself, seeming to look through andbeyond him, as if he were incorporeal. 

"You missed me like that?" she said slowly. 

"I missed you like that. "

Margaret meditated a moment. "In the first days of my illness Iwondered if you didn't miss me a little; afterwards everything wasconfused in my mind. When I tried to think, I seemed to be somebodyelse, --I seemed to be _you_ waiting for me here in the studio. Wasn't that singular? But when I recovered, and returned to my oldplace, I began to suspect I had been bearing your anxiety, --that Ihad been distressed by the absence to which you had grownaccustomed. "

"I never got used to it, Margaret. It became more and moreunendurable. This workshop was full of--of your absence. There wasn'ta sketch or a cast or an object in the room that didn't remind me ofyou, and seem to mock at me for having let the most precious momentsof my life slip away unheeded. That bit of geranium in the glassyonder seemed to say with its dying breath, 'You have cared forneither of us as you ought to have cared; my scent and her goodnesshave been all one to you, --things to take or to leave. It was for nomerit of yours that she was always planning something to make lifesmoother and brighter for you. What had you done to deserve it? Howunselfish and generous and good she has been to you for years andyears! What would have become of you without her? She left me here onpurpose'--it's the geranium leaf that is speaking all the while, Margaret--'to say this to you, and to tell you that she was not halfappreciated; but now you have lost her. '"

As she leaned forward listening, with her lips slightly parted, Margaret gave an unconscious little approbative nod of the head. Richard's fanciful accusation of himself caused her a singular thrillof pleasure. He had never before spoken to her in just this fashion;the subterfuge which his tenderness had employed, the little detourit had made in order to get at her, was a novel species of flattery. She recognized the ring of a distinctly new note in his voice; but, strangely enough, the note lost its unfamiliarity in an instant. Margaret recognized that fact also, and as she swiftly speculate donthe phenomenon her pulse went one or two strokes faster. 

"Oh, you poor boy!" she said, looking up with a laugh, and a flushso interfused that they seemed one, "that geranium took a great dealupon itself. It went quite beyond its instructions, which were simplyto remind you of me now and then. One day, while you were out, --theday before I was taken ill, --I placed the flowers on the desk there, perhaps with a kind of premonition that I was going away from you fora time. "

"What if you had never come back?"

"I wouldn't think of that if I were you, " said Margaret softly. 

"But it haunts me, --that thought. Sometimes of a morning, after Iunlock the workshop door, I stand hesitating, with my hand on thelatch, as one might hesitate a few seconds before stepping into atomb. There were days last month, Margaret, when this chamber didappear to me like a tomb. All that was happy in my past seemed to lieburied here; it was something visible and tangible; I used to stealin and look upon it. "

"Oh, Richard!"

"If you only knew what a life I led as a boy in my cousin's house, and what a doleful existence for years afterwards, until I found you, perhaps you would understand my despair when I saw everythingsuddenly slipping away from me. Margaret! the day your father broughtyou in here, I had all I could do not to kneel down at yourfeet"--Richard stopped short. "I didn't mean to tell you that, " headded, turning towards the work-table. Then he checked himself, andcame and stood in front of her again. He had gone too far not to gofurther. "While you were ill I made a great discovery. "

"What was that, Richard?"

"I discovered that I had been blind for two or three years. "

"Blind?" repeated Margaret. 

"Stone-blind. I discovered it by suddenly seeing--by seeing that Ihad loved you all the while, Margaret! Are you offended?"

"No, " said Margaret, slowly; she was a moment finding her voice tosay it. "I--ought I to be offended?"

"Not if you are not!" said Richard. 

"Then I am note. I--I've made little discoveries myself, " murmuredMargaret, going into full mourning with her eyelashes. 

But it was only for an instant. She refused to take her happinessshyly or insincerely; it was something too sacred. She was a trifleappalled by it, if the truth must be told. If Richard had scatteredhis love-making through the month of her convalescence, or if he hadmade his avowal in a different mood, perhaps Margaret might have methim with some natural coquetry. But Richard's tone and manner hadbeen such as to suppress any instinct of the kind. His declaration, moreover, had amazed her. Margaret's own feelings had been more orless plain to her that past month, and she had diligently disciplinedherself to accept Richard's friendship, since it seemed all he had togive. Indeed, it had seemed at times as if he had not even that. 

When Margaret lifted her eyes to him, a second after herconfession, they were full of a sweet seriousness, and she had nothought of withdrawing the hands which Richard had taken, and washolding lightly, that she might withdraw them if she willed. She feltno impulse to do so, though as Margaret looked up she saw her fatherstanding a few paces behind Richard. 

With an occult sense of another presence in the room, Richard, turned at the same instant. 

Mr. Slocum had advanced two steps into the apartment, and had beenbrought to a dead halt by the surprising tableau in the embrasure ofthe window. He stood motionless, with an account-book under his arm, while a dozen expressions chased each other over his countenance. 

"Mr. Slocum, " said Richard, who saw that only one course lay opento him, "I love Margaret, and I have been telling her. "

At that the flitting shadows on Mr. Slocum's face settled into onegrave look. He did not reply immediately, but let his glance wanderfrom Margaret to Richard, and back again to Margaret, slowlydigesting the fact. It was evident he had not relished it. Meanwhilethe girl had risen from the chair and was moving towards her father. 

"This strikes me as very extraordinary, " he said at last. "Youhave never given any intimation that such a feeling existed. How longhas this been going on?"

"I have always been fond of Margaret, sir; but I was not aware ofthe strength of the attachment until the time of her illness, whenI--that is, we--came near to losing her. "

"And you, Margaret?"

As Mr. Slocum spoke he instinctively put one arm around Margaret, who had crept closely to his side. 

"I don't know when I began to love Richard, " said Margaret simply. 

"You don't know!"

"Perhaps it was while I was ill; perhaps it was long before that;may be my liking for him commenced as far back as the time he madethe cast of my hand. How can I tell, papa? I don't know. "

"There appears to be an amazing diffusion of ignorance here!"

Margaret bit her lip, and kept still. Her father was taking it agreat deal more seriously than she had expected. A long, awkwardsilence ensued. Richard broke it at last by remarking uneasily, "Nothing has been or was to be concealed from you. Before going tosleep to-night, Margaret would have told you all I've said to her. "

"You should have consulted with me before saying anything. "

"I intended to do so, but my words got away from me. I hope youwill overlook it, sir, and not oppose my loving Margaret, though Isee as plainly as you do that I am not worthy of her. "

"I have not said that. I base my disapproval on entirely differentground. Margaret is too young. A girl of seventeen or eighteen"--

"Nineteen, " said Margaret, parenthetically. 

"Of nineteen, then, --has no business to bother her head with suchmatters. Only yesterday she was a child!"

Richard glanced across at Margaret, and endeavored to recall heras she impressed him that first afternoon, when she knocked defiantlyat the workshop door to inquire if he wanted any pans and pails; buthe was totally unable to reconstruct that crude little figure withthe glossy black head, all eyes and beak, like a young hawk's. 

"My objection is impersonal, " continued Mr. Slocum. "I object tothe idea. I wish this had not happened. I might not have dislikedit--years hence; I don't say; but I dislike it now. "

Richard's face brightened. "It will be years hence in a fewyears!"

Mr. Slocum replied with a slow, grave smile, "I am not going to beunreasonable in a matter where I find Margaret's happiness concerned;and yours, Richard, I care for that, too; but I'll have noentanglements. You and she are to be good friends, and nothingbeyond. I prefer that Margaret should not come to the studio sooften; you shall see her whenever you like at our fireside, of anevening. I don't think the conditions hard. "

Mr. Slocum had dictated terms, but it was virtually a surrender. Margaret listened to him with her cheek resting against his arm, anda warm light nestled down deep under her eyelids. 

Mr. Slocum drew a half-pathetic sigh. "I presume I have not donewisely. Every one bullies me. The Marble Workers' Association ruinsmy yard for me, and now my daughter is taken off my hands. By theway, Richard, " he said, interrupting himself brusquely, and with anair of dismissing the subject, "I forgot what I came for. I've beenthinking over Torrini's case, and have concluded that you had bettermake up his account and discharge him. "

"Certainly, sir, " replied Richard, with a shadow of dissent in hismanner, "if you wish it. "

"He causes a deal of trouble in the yard. "

"I am afraid he does. Sucha clean workman when he's sober!"

"But he is never sober. "

"He has been in a bad way lately, I admit. "

"His example demoralizes the men. I can see it day by day. "

"I wish he were not so necessary at this moment, " observedRichard. "I don't know who else could be trusted with the frieze forthe Soldiers' Monument. I'd like to keep him on a week or ten dayslonger. Suppose I have a plain talk with Torrini?"

"Surely we have enough good hands to stand the loss of one. "

"For a special kind of work there is nobody in the yard likeTorrini. That is one reason why I want to hold on to him for a while, and there are other reasons. "

"Such as what?"

"Well, I think it would not be wholly politic to break with himjust now. "

"Why not now as well as any time?"

"He has lately been elected secretary of the Association. "

"What of that?"

"He has a great deal of influence there. "

"If we put him out of the works it seems to me he would lose hisimportance, if he really has any to speak of. "

"You are mistaken if you doubt it. His position gives him a chanceto do much mischief, and he would avail himself of it very adroitly, if he had a personal grievance. "

"I believe you are actually afraid of the fellow. "

Richard smiled. "No, I am not afraid of him, but I don't underratehim. The men look up to Torrini as a sort of leader; he's aneffective speaker, and knows very well how to fan a dissatisfaction. Either he or some other disturbing element has recently been at workamong the men. There's considerable grumbling in the yard. "

"They are always grumbling, aren't they?"

"Most always, but this is more serious than usual; there appearsto be a general stir among the trades in the village. I don'tunderstand it clearly. The marble workers have been holding secretmeetings. "

"They mean business, you think?"

"They mean increased wages, perhaps. "

"But we are now paying from five to ten per cent more than anytrade in the place. What are they after?"

"So far as I can gather, sir, the finishers and the slab-sawerswant an advance, --I don't know how much. Then there's some talk abouthaving the yard closed an hour earlier on Saturdays. All this ismerely rumor; but I am sure there is something in it. "

"Confound the whole lot! If we can't discharge a drunken handwithout raising the pay of all t he rest, we had better turn over theentire business to the Association. But do as you like, Richard. Yousee how I am bullied, Margaret. He runs everything! Come, dear. "

And Mr. Slocum quitted the workshop, taking Margaret with him. Richard remained standing awhile by the table, in a deep study, withhis eyes fixed on the floor. He thought of his early days in thesepulchral house in Welch's Court, of his wanderings abroad, his longyears of toil since then, and this sudden blissful love that had cometo him, and Mr. Slocum's generosity. Then he thought of Torrini, andwent down into the yard gently to admonish the man, for Richard'heart that hour was full of kindness for all the world. 

XI

In spite of Mr. Slocum's stipulations respecting the frequency ofMargaret's visits to the studio, she was free to come and go as sheliked. It was easy for him to say, Be good friends, and nothingbeyond; but after that day in the workshop it was impossible forRichard and Margaret to be anything but lovers. The hollowness ofpretending otherwise was clear even to Mr. Slocum. In the love of afather for a daughter there is always a vague jealousy which refusesto render a coherent explanation of itself. Mr. Slocum did not escapethis, but he managed, nevertheless, to accept the inevitable withvery fair grace, and presently to confess to himself that theoccurrence which had at first taken him aback was the most natural inthe world. That Margaret and Richard, thrown together as they hadbeen, should end by falling in love with each other was not a resultto justify much surprise. Indeed, there was a special propriety intheir doing so. The Shackfords had always been reputable people inthe village, --down to Lemuel Shackford, who of course as an oldmusk-rat. The family attributes of amiability and honesty had skippedhim, but they had reappeared in Richard. It was through his foresightand personal energy that the most lucrative branch of the trade hadbeen established. His services entitled him to a future interest inthe business, and Mr. Slocum had intended he should have it. Mr. Slocum had not dreamed of throwing in Margaret also; but since thataddition had suggested itself, it seemed to him one of the happyfeatures of the arrangement. Richard would thus be doubly identifiedwith the yard, to which, in fact, he had become more necessary thanMr. Slocum himself. 

"He has more backbone with the men than I have, " acknowledged Mr. Slocum. "He knows how to manage them, and I don't. "

As soft as Slocum was a Stillwater proverb. Richard certainly hadplenty of backbone; it was his only capital. In Mr. Slocum'sestimation it was sufficient capital. But Lemuel Shackford was a veryrich man, and Mr. Slocum could not avoid seeing that it would bedecent in Richard's only surviving relative if, at this juncture, hewere to display a little interest in the young fellow's welfare. 

"If he would only offer to advance a few thousand dollars forRichard, " said Mr. Slocum, one evening, to Margaret, with whom he hadbeen talking over the future--"the property must all come to him sometime, --it would be a vast satisfaction to me to tell the old man thatwe can get along without any of his ill-gotten gains. He made thebulk of his fortune during the war, you know. The old sea-serpent, "continued Mr. Slocum, with hopeless confusion of metaphor, "had ahand in fitting out more than one blockade-runner. They used to talkof a ship that got away from Charleston with a cargo of cotton thatnetted the share-holders upwards of two hundred thousand dollars. Hedenies it now, but everybody knows Shackford. He'd betray his countryfor fifty cents in postage-stamps. "

"Oh, papa! you are too hard on him. "

In words dropped cursorily from time to time, Margaret imparted toRichard the substance of her father's speech, and it set Richardreflecting. It was not among the probabilities that Lemuel Shackfordwould advance a dollar to establish Richard, but if he could inducehis cousin even to take the matter into consideration, Richard feltthat it would be a kind of moral support to him circumstanced as hewas. His pride revolted at the idea of coming quite unbacked anddisowned, as well as empty-handed, to Mr. Slocum. 

For the last twelve months there had been a cessation of ordinarycourtesies between the two cousins. They now passed each other on thestreet without recognition. A year previously Mr. Shackford hadfallen ill, and Richard, aware of the inefficient domesticarrangements in Welch's Court, had gone to the house out of sheerpity. The old man was in bed, and weak with fever, but at seeingRichard he managed to raise himself on one elbow. 

"Oh, it's you!" he exclaimed, mockingly. "When a rich man is sickthe anxious heirs crowd around him; but they're twice as honestlyanxious when he is perfectly well. "

"I came to see if I could do anything for you!" cried Richard, with a ferocious glare, and in a tone that went curiously with hiswords, and shook to the foundations his character of Good Samaritan. 

"The only thing you can do for me is to go away. "

"I'll do that with pleasure, " retorted Richard bitterly. 

And Richard went, vowing he would never set foot across thethreshold again. He could not help having ugly thoughts. Why shouldall the efforts to bring about a reconciliation and all theforbearance be on his side? Thenceforth the crabbed old man might goto perdition if he wanted to. 

And now here was Richard meditating a visit to that same house tobeg a favor!

Nothing but his love for Margaret could have dragged him to such abanquet of humble-pie as he knew was spread for his delectation, themorning he passed up the main street of Stillwater and turned intoWelch's Court. 

As Richard laid his hand on the latch of the gate, Mr. Shackford, who was digging in the front garden, looked up and saw him. Withoutpaying any heed to Richard's amicable salutation, the old man leftthe shove sticking in the sod, and walked stiffly into the house. Atanother moment this would have amused Richard, but now he gravelyfollowed his kinsman, and overtook him at the foot of the staircase. 

"Cousin Shackford, can you spare me five or ten minutes?"

"Don't know as I can, " said Mr. Shackford, with one foot on thelower stair. "Time is valuable. What do you want? You wantsomething. "

"Certainly, or I wouldn't think of trespassing on your time. "

"Has Slocum thrown you over?" inquired the old man, turningquickly. A straw which he held between his thin lips helped to givehim a singularly alert expression. 

"No; Mr. Slocum and I agree the best in the world. I want to talkwith you briefly on certain matters; I want to be on decent termswith you, if you will let me. "

"Decent terms means money, doesn't it?" asked Mr. Shackford, witha face as wary and lean as a shark's. 

"I do wish to talk about money, among other things, " returnedRichard, whom this brutal directness disconcerted a little, --"moneyon satisfactory security. "

"You can get it anywhere with that. "

"So I might, and be asking no favor; but I would rather get it ofyou, and consider it an obligation. "

"I would rather you wouldn't. "

"Listen to me a moment. "

"Well, I'm listening. "

Mr. Shackford stood in an attitude of attention, with his headcanted on one side, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and the strawbetween his teeth tilted up at an angle of forty degrees. 

"I have, as you know, worked my way in the marble yard to theposition of general manager, " began Richard. 

"I didn't know, " said Mr. Shackford, "but I understand. You're asort of head grave-stone maker. "

"That is taking a rather gloomy view of it, " said Richard, "but nomatter. The point is, I hold a responsible position, and I now have achance to purchase a share in the works. "

"Slocum is willing to take you in, eh?"

"Yes. "

"Then the concern is hit. "

"Hit?"

"Slocum is going into bankruptcy. "

"You are wrong there. The yard was never so prosperous; the comingyear we shall coin money like a mint. "

"You ought to know, " said Mr. Shackford, ruminatively. "A thing asgood as a mint must be a good thing. "

"If I were a partner in the business, I could marry Margaret. "

"Who's Margaret?"

"Mr. Slocum's daughter. "

"That's where the wind is! Now how much capital would it take todo all that?" inquired Mr. Shackford, with an air of affablespeculation. 

"Three or four thousand dollars, --perhaps less. "

"Well, I wouldn't give three or four cents to have you marrySlocum's daughter. Richard, you can't pull any chestnuts out of thefire with my paw. "

Mr. Shackford's interrogation and his more than usual conciliatorymanner had lighted a hope which Richard had not brought with him. Itssudden extinguishment was in consequence doubly aggravating. 

"Slocum's daughter!" repeated Mr. Shackford. "I'd as soon youwould marry Crazy Nan up at the work-house. "

The association of Crazy Nan with Margaret sent a red flush intoRichard's cheek. He turned angrily towards the door, and then halted, recollecting the resolve he had made not to lose his temper, comewhat would. If the interview was to end there it had better not havetaken place. 

"I had no expectation that you would assist me pecuniarily, " saidRichard, after a moment. "Let us drop the money question; itshouldn't have come up between us. I want you to aid me, not bylending me money, but by giving me your countenance as the head ofthe family, --by showing a natural interest in my affairs, and seemingdisposed to promote them. "

"By just seeming?"

"That is really all I desire. If you were to propose to putcapital into the concern, Mr. Slocum would refuse it. "

"Slocum would refuse it! Why in the devil should he refuse it?"

"Because"--Richard hesitated, finding himself unexpectedly ondelicate ground--"because he would not care to enter into businessrelations with you, under the circumstances. "

Mr. Shackford removed the straw from his mouth, and holding itbetween his thumb and forefinger peered steadily through hishalf-closed eyelids at Richard. 

"I don't understand you. "

"The dispute you had long ago, over the piece of meadow landbehind the marble yard. Mr. Slocum felt that you bore on him ratherheavily in that matter, and has not quite forgiven you for forcinghim to rebuild the sheds. "

"Bother Slocum and his sheds! I understand him. What I don'tunderstand is _you_. I am to offer Slocum three or four thousanddollars to set you up, and he is to decline to take it. Is that it?"

"That is not it at all, " returned Richard. "My statement was this:If you were to propose purchasing a share for me in the works, Mr. Slocum would not entertain the proposition, thinking--as I don'tthink--that he would mortify you by the refusal of your money. "

"The only way Slocum could mortify me would be by getting hold ofit. But what are you driving at, anyhow? In one breath you demandseveral thousand dollars, and in the next breath you tell me thatnobody expects it, or wants it, or could be induced to have it on anyterms. Perhaps you will inform me what you are here for?"

"That is what you will never discover!" cried Richard. "It is notin you to comprehend the ties of sympathy that ought to hold betweentwo persons situated as we are. In most families this sympathy bindsclosely at times, --at christenings, or burials, or when some memberis about to take an important step in life. Generally speaking, bloodis thicker than water; but your blood, cousin Shackford, seems to bea good deal thinner. I came here to consult with you as my soleremaining kinsman, as one authorized by years and position to give mewise counsel and kindly encouragement at the turning point in myfortune. I didn't wish to go among those people like a tramp, withneither kith nor kin to say a word for me. Of course you don'tunderstand that. How should you? A sentiment of that kind issomething quite beyond your conception. "

Richard's words went into one ear and out the other, withoutseeming for an instant to arrest Mr. Shackford's attention. The ideaof Slocum not accepting money--anybody's money--presented itself toMr. Shackford in so facetious a light as nearly to throw him intogood humor. His foot was on the first step of the staircase, which henow began slowly to mount, giving vent, as he ascended, to a seriousof indescribable chuckles. At the top of the landing he halted, andleaned over the rail. 

"To think of Slocum refusing, --that's a good one!"

In the midst of his jocularity a sudden thought seemed to strikeMr. Shackford; his features underwent a swift transformation, and ashe grasped the rail in front of him with both hands a maliciouscunning writhed and squirmed in every wrinkle of his face. 

"Sir!" he shrieked, "it was a trap! Slocum would have taken it! IfI had been ass enough to make any such offer, he would have jumped atit. What do you and Slocum take me for? You're a pair of rascals!"

Richard staggered back, bewildered and blinded, as if he hadreceived a blow in the eyes. 

"No, " continued Mr. Shackford, with a gesture of intense contempt, "you are less than rascals. You are fools. A rascal has to havebrains!"

"You shameless old man!" cried Richard, as soon as he could gethis voice. 

To do Mr. Shackford justice, he was thoroughly convinced thatRichard had lent himself to a preposterous attempt to obtain moneyfrom him. The absence of ordinary shrewdness in the method stamped itat once as belonging to Slocum, of whose mental calibre Mr. Shackfordentertained no flattering estimate. 

"Slocum!" he muttered, grinding the word between his teeth. "Family ties!" he cried, hurling the words scornfully over thebanister as he disappeared into one of the upper chambers. 

Richard stood with one hand on the newel-post, white at the lipwith rage. For a second he had a wild impulse to spring up thestaircase, but, controlling this, he turned and hurried out of thehouse. 

At the gate he brushed roughly against a girl, who halted andstared. It was a strange thing to see Mr. Richard Shackford, whoalways had a pleasant word for a body, go by in that blind, excitedfashion, striking one fist into the palm of the other hand, andtalking to his own self! Mary Hennessey watched him until he wheeledout of Welch's Court, and then picking up her basket, which she hadrested on the fence, went her way. 

XII

At the main entrance to the marble works Richard nearly walkedover a man who was coming out, intently mopping his forehead with avery dirty calico handkerchief. It was an English stone-dresser namedDenyven. Richard did not recognize him at first. 

"That you, Denyven! . . . What has happened!"

"I've 'ad a bit of a scrimmage, sir. "

"A scrimmage in the yard, in work hours!"

The man nodded. 

"With whom?"

"Torrini, sir, --he's awful bad this day. "

"Torrini, --it is always Torrini! It seems odd that one man shouldbe everlastingly at the bottom of everything wrong. How did ithappen? Give it to me straight, Denyven; I don't want a crookedstory. This thing has got to stop in Slocum's Yard. "

"The way of it was this, sir: Torrini wasn't at the shop thismorning. He 'ad a day off. "

"I know. "

"But about one o'clock, sir, he come in the yard. He 'ad been atthe public 'ouse, sir, and he was hummin'. First he went among thecarvers, talking Hitalian to 'em and making 'em laugh, though he wasin a precious bad humor hisself. By and by he come over to where meand my mates was, and began chaffin' us, which we didn't mind it, seeing he was 'eavy in the 'ead. He was as clear as a fog 'orn allthe same. But when he took to banging the tools on the blocks, Isings out, ''Ands off!' and then he fetched me a clip. I was neverlooking for nothing less than that he'd hit me. I was a smiling atthe hinstant. "

"He must be drunker than usual. "

"Hevidently, sir. I went down between two slabs as soft as youplease. When I got on my pins, I was for choking him a bit, but mymates hauled us apart. That's the 'ole of it, sir. They'll tell youthe same within. "

"Are you hurt, Denyven?"

"Only a bit of a scratch over the heye, sir, --and the nose, " andthe man began mopping his brow tenderly. "I'd like to 'ave thatHitalian for about ten minutes, some day when he's sober, over yonderon the green. "

"I'm afraid he would make the ten minutes seem long to you. "

"Well, sir, I'd willingly let him try his 'and. "

"How is it, Denyven, " said Richard, "that you and sensibleworkingmen like you, have permitted such a quarrelsome andirresponsible fellow to become a leader in the Association? He'ssecretary, or something, isn't he?"

"Well, sir, he writes an uncommonly clean fist, and then he's aborn horator. He's up to all the parli'mentary dodges. Must 'ave 'adno end of hexperience in them sort of things on the other side. "

"No doubt, --and that accounts for him being over here. "

"As for horganizing a meeting, sir"--

"I know. Torrini has a great deal of that kind of ability; perhapsa trifle too much for his own good or anybody else's. There was neverany trouble to speak of among the trades in Stillwater till he andtwo or three others came here with foreign grievances. These men getthree times the pay they ever received in their own land, and aretreated like human beings for the first time in their lives. But whatdo they do? They squander a quarter of their week's wages at thetavern, --no rich man could afford to put a fourth of his income intodrink, --and make windy speeches at the Union. I don't say all ofthem, but too many of them. The other night, I understand, Torrinicompared Mr. Slocum to Nero, --Mr. Slocum, the fairest and gentlestman that ever breathed! What rubbish!"

"It wasn't just that way, sir. His words was, and I 'eardhim, --'from Nero down to Slocum. '"

"It amounts to the same thing, and is enough to make one laugh, ifhe didn't make one want to swear. I hear that that was a very livelymeeting the other night. What was that nonsense about 'the privilegedclass'?"

"Well, there is a privileged class in the States. "

"So there is, but it's a large class, Denyven. Every soul of ushas the privilege of bettering out condition if we have the brain andthe industry to do it. Energy and intelligence come to the front, andhave the right to be there. A skillful workman gets double the pay ofa bungler, and deserves it. Of course there will always be rich andpoor, and sick and sound, and I don't see how that can be changed. But no door is shut against ability, black or white. Before the year2400 we shall have a chrome-yellow president and a black-and-tansecretary of the treasury. But, seriously, Denyven, whoever talksabout privileged classes here does it to make mischief. There arecertain small politicians who reap their harvest in times of publicconfusion, just as pickpockets do. Nobody can play the tyrant or thebully in this country, --not even a workingman. Here's the Associationdead against an employer who, two years ago, ran his yard full-handedfor a twelvemonth at a loss, rather than shut down, as every othermill and factory in Stillwater did. For years and years theAssociation has prevented this employer from training more than twoapprentices annually. The result is, eighty hands find work, insteadof a hundred and eighty. Now, that can't last. "

"It keeps wages fixed in Stillwater, sir. "

"It keeps out a hundred workmen. It sends away capital. "

"Torrini says, sir"--

"Steer clear of Torrini and what he says. He's a dangerousfellow--for his friends. It is handsome in you, Denyven, to speak upfor him--with that eye of yours. "

"Oh, I don't love the man, when it comes to that; but there's nodenying he's right smart, " replied Denyven, who occasionally marredhis vernacular with Americanisms. "The Association couldn't dowithout him. "

"But Slocum's Yard can, " said Richard, irritated to observe theinfluence Torrini exerted on even such men as Denyven. 

"That's between you and him, sir, of course, but"--

"But what?"

"Well, isr, I can't say hexactly; but if I was you I would bide abit. "

"No, I think Torrini's time has come. "

"I don't make bold to advise you, sir. I merely throws out thehobservation. "

With that Denyven departed to apply to his bruises such herbs andsimples as a long experience had taught him to be efficacious. 

He had gone only a few rods, however, when it occurred to him thatthere were probabilities of a stormy scene in the yard; so he turnedon his tracks, and followed Richard Shackford. 

Torrini was a Neapolitan, who had come to the country seven oreight years before. He was a man above the average intelligence ofhis class; a marble worker by trade, but he had been a fisherman, amountain guide among the Abruzzi, a soldier in the papal guard, andwhat not, and had contrived to pick up two or three languages, amongthe rest English, which he spoke with purity. His lingual gift wasone of his misfortunes. 

Among the exotics in Stillwater, which even boasted a featurelessCelestial, who had unobtrusively extinguished himself with astove-pipe hat, Torrini was the only figure that approachedpicturesqueness. With his swarthy complexion and large, indolenteyes, in which a southern ferocity slept lightly, he seemed toRichard a piece out of his own foreign experience. To him Torrini wasthe crystallization of Italy, or so much of that Italy as Richard hadcaught a glimpse of at Genoa. To the town-folks Torrini perhapsvaguely suggested hand-organs and eleemosynary pennies; but Richardnever looked at the straight-limbed, handsome fellow withoutrecalling the Phrygian-capped sailors of the Mediterranean. On thisaccount, and for other reasons, Richard had taken a great fancy tothe man. Torrini had worked in the ornamental department from thefirst, and was a rapid and expert carver when he chose. He hadcarried himself steadily enough in the beginning, but in these laterdays, as Mr. Slocum had stated, he was scarcely ever sober. Richardhad stood between him and his discharge on several occasions, partlybecause he was so skillful a workman, and partly through pity for hiswife and children, who were unable to speak a word of English. ButTorrini's influence on the men in the yard, --especially on theyounger hands, who needed quite other influences, --and hisintemperate speeches at the trades-union, where he had recentlygained a kind of ascendancy by his daring, were producing the worsteffects. 

At another hour Richard might have been inclined to condone thislast offense, as he had condoned others; but when he parted fromDenyven, Richard's heart was still hot with his cousin's insult. Ashe turned into the yard, not with his usual swinging gait, but with aquick, wide step, there was an unpleasant dilation about youngShackford's nostrils. 

Torrini was seated on a block of granite in front of the uppersheds, flourishing a small chisel in one hand and addressing the men, a number of whom had stopped work to listen to him. At sight ofRichard they made a show of handling their tools, but it was so clearsomething grave was going to happen that the pretense fell through. They remained motionless, resting on their mallets, with their eyesturned towards Richard. Torrini followed the general glance, andpause din his harangue. 

"Talk of the devil!" he muttered, and then, apparently continuingthe thread of his discourse, broke into a strain of noisydeclamation. 

Richard walked up to him quietly. 

"Torrini, " he said, "you can't be allowed to speak here, youknow. "

"I can speak where I like, " replied Torrini gravely. He was drunk, but the intoxication was not in his tongue. His head, as Denyven hadasserted, was as clear as a fog-horn. 

"When you are sober, you can come to the desk and get your pay andyour kit. You are discharged from the yard. "

Richard was standing within two paces of the man, who looked upwith an uncertain smile, as if he had not quite taken in the sense ofthe words. Then, suddenly straightening himself, he exclaimed, --

"Slocum don't dare do it!"

"But I do. "

"You!"

"When I do a thing Mr. Slocum backs me. "

"But who backs Slocum, --the Association, may be?"

"Certainly the Association ought to. I want you to leave the yardnow. "

"He backs Slocum, " said Torrini, settling himself on the blockagain, "and Slocum backs down, " at which there was a laugh among themen. 

Richard made a step forward. 

"Hands off!" cried a voice from under the sheds. 

"Who said that?" demanded Richard, wheeling around. No oneanswered, but Richard had recognized Durgin's voice. "Torrini, if youdon't quit the yard in two minutes by the clock yonder, I shall putyou out by the neck. Do you understand?"

Torrini glared about him confusedly for a moment, and broke intovoluble Italian; then, without a warning gesture, sprung to his feetand struck at Richard. A straight red line, running vertically thelength of his cheek, showed where the chisel had grazed him. Theshops were instantly in a tumult, the men dropping their tools andstumbling over the blocks, with cries of "Keep them apart!" "Shame onyou!" "Look out, Mr. Shackford!"

"Is it mad ye are, Torrany!" cried Michael Hennessey, hurryingfrom the saw-bench. Durgin held him back by the shoulders. 

"Let them alone, " said Durgin. 

The flat steel flashed again in the sunlight, but fell harmlessly, and before the blow could be repeated, Richard had knitted hisfingers in Torrini's neckerchief and twisted it so tightly that theman gasped. Holding him by this, Richard dragged Torrini across theyard, and let him drop on the sidewalk outside the gate, where he layin a heap, inert. 

"That was nate, " said Michael Hennessey, sententiously. 

Richard stood leaning on the gate-post to recover he breath. Hisface was colorless, and the crimson line defined itself sharplyagainst the pallor; but the rage was dead within him. It had been oneof his own kind of rages, --like lightning out of a blue sky. As hestood there a smile was slowly gathering on his lip. 

A score or two of the men had followed him, and now lounged in ahalf-circle a few paces in the rear. When Richard was aware of theirpresence, the glow came into his eyes again. 

"Who ordered you to knock off work?"

"That was a foul blow of Torrini's, sir, " said Stevens, steppingforward, "and I for one come to see fair play. "

"Give us your 'and, mate!" cried Denyven; "there's a pair of us. "

"Thanks, " said Richard, softening at once, "but there's no need. Every man can go to his job. Denyven may stay, if he likes. "

The men lingered a moment, irresolute, and returned to the shedsin silence. 

Presently Torrini stretched out one leg, then the other, andslowly rose to his feet, giving a stupid glance at his empty hands ashe did so. 

"Here's your tool, " said Richard, stirring the chisel with the toeof his boot, "if that's what you're looking for. "

Torrini advanced a step as if to pick it up, then appeared toalter his mind, hesitated perhaps a dozen seconds, and turningabruptly on his heel walked down the street without a stagger. 

"I think his legs is shut off from the rest of his body bywater-tight compartments, " remarked Denyven, regarding Torrini'ssteady gait with mingled amusement and envy. "Are you hurt, sir?"

"Only a bit of a scratch of the heye, " replied Richard, with alaugh. 

"As I hobserved just now to Mr. Stevens, sir, there's a pair ofus!"

XIII

After a turn through the shops to assure himself that order wasrestored, Richard withdrew in the direction of his studio. Margaretwas standing at the head of the stairs, half hidden by the scarletcreeper which draped that end of the veranda. 

"What are you doing there?" said Richard looking up with a brightsmile. 

"Oh, Richard, I saw it all!"

"You didn't see anything worth having white cheeks about. "

"But he struck you . . . With the knife, did he not?" saidMargaret, clinging to his arm anxiously. 

"He didn't have a knife, dear; only a small chisel, which couldn'thurt any one. See for yourself; it is merely a cat-scratch. "

Margaret satisfied herself that it was nothing more; but shenevertheless insisted on leading Richard into the workshop, andsoothing the slight inflammation with her handkerchief dipped inarnica and water. The elusive faint fragrance of Margaret's hair asshe busied herself about him would of itself have consoled Richardfor a deep wound. All this pretty solicitude and ministration was newand sweet to him, and when the arnica turned out to be cologne, andscorched his cheek, Margaret's remorse was so delicious that Richardhalf wished the mixture had been aquafortia. 

"You shouldn't have been looking into the yard, " he said. "If Ihad known that you were watching us it would have distracted me. WhenI am thinking of you I cannot think of anything else, and I had needof my wits for a moment. "

"I happened to be on the veranda, and was too frightened to goaway. Why did you quarrel?"

In giving Margaret an account of the matter, Richard refrainedfrom any mention of his humiliating visit to Welch's Court thatmorning. He could neither speak of it nor reflect upon it withcomposure. The cloud which shadowed his features from time to timewas attributed by Margaret to the affair in the yard. 

"But this is the end of it, is it not?" she asked, with troubledeyes. "You will not have any further words with him?"

"You needn't worry. If Torrini had not been drinking he wouldnever have lifted his hand against me. When he comes out of hispresent state, he will be heartily ashamed of himself. His tongue isthe only malicious part of him. If he hadn't a taste for drink andoratory, --if he was not 'a born horator, ' as Denyven calls him, --hewould do well enough. "

"No, Richard, he's a dreadful man. I shall never forget hisface, --it was some wild animal's. And you, Richard, " added Margaretsoftly, "it grieved me to see you look like that. "

"I was wolfish for a moment, I suppose. Things had gone wronggenerally. But if you are going to scold me, Margaret, I would ratherhave some more--arnica. "

"I am not going to scold; but while you stood there, so white andterrible, --so unlike yourself, --I felt that I did not know you, Richard. Of course you had to defend yourself when the man attackedyou, but I thought for an instant you would kill him. "

"Not I, " said Richard uneasily, dreading anything like a rebukefrom Margaret. "I am mortified that I gave up to my anger. There wasno occasion. "

"If an intoxicated person were to wander into the yard, papa wouldsend for a constable, and have the person removed. "

"Your father is an elderly man, " returned Richard, not relishingthis oblique criticism of his own simpler method. "What would beproper in his case would be considered cowardly in mine. It was myduty to discharge the fellow, and not let him dispute my authority. Iought to have been cooler, of course. But I should have lost casteand influence with the men if I had shown the least personal fear ofTorrini, --if, for example, I had summoned somebody else to do what Ididn't dare do myself. I was brought up in the yard, remember, and toa certain extent I have to submit to being weighed in the yard's ownscales. "

"But a thing cannot be weighed in a scale incapable of containingit, " answered Margaret. "The judgment of these rough, uninstruictedmen is too narrow for such as you. They quarrel and fight amongthemselves, and have their ideas of daring; but there is a highersort of bravery, the bravery of self-control, which I fancy they donot understand very well; so their opinion of it is not worthconsidering. However, you know better than I. "

"No, I do not, " said Richard. "Your instinct is finer than myreason. But you _are_ scolding me, Margaret. "

"No, I am loving you, " she said softly. "How can I do that morefaithfully than by being dissatisfied with anything but the best inyou?"

"I wasn't at my best a while ago?"

"No, Richard. "

"I can never hope to be worthy of you. "

But Margaret protested against that. Having forced him to look athis action through her eyes, she outdid him in humility, and then theconversation drifted off into half-breathed nothings, which, thoughthey were satisfactory enough for these two, would have made a thirdperson yawn. 

The occurrence at Slocum's Yard was hotly discussed that night atthe Stillwater hotel. Discussions in that long, low bar-room, wherethe latest village scandal always came to receive the finishinggloss, were apt to be hot. In their criticism of outside men andmeasures, as well as in their mutual vivisections, there was anunflinching directness among Mr. Snelling's guests which is not to befound in more artificial grades of society. The popular verdict onyoung Shackford's conduct was as might not have been predicted, strongly in his favor. He had displayed pluck, and pluck of thetougher fibre was a quality held in so high esteem in Stillwater thatany manifestation of it commanded respect. And young Shackford hadshown a great deal; he had made short work of the most formidable manin the yard, and given the rest to understand that he was not to betampered with. This had taken many by surprise, for hitherto animperturbable amiability had been the leading characteristic ofSlocum's manager. 

"I didn't think he had it in him, " declared Dexter. 

"Well, ye might, " replied Michael Hennessey. "Look at the lad'seye, and the muscles of him. He stands on his own two legs like amonumint, so he does. "

"Never saw a monument with two legs, Mike. "

"Didn't ye? Wait till ye're layin' at the foot of one. But ye'llwait many a day, me boy. Ye'll be lucky if ye're supploid with ahead-stone made out of a dale-board. "

"Couldn't get a wooden head-stone short of Ireland, Mike. "Retorted Dexter, with a laugh. "You'd have to import it. "

"An' so I will; but it won't be got over in time, if ye go oninterruptin' gintlemen when they're discoorsin'. What was I sayin', any way, when the blackguard chipped in?" continued Mr. Hennessey, appealing to the company, as he emptied the ashes from his pipe byknocking the bowl in the side of his chair. 

"You was talking of Dick Shackford's muscle, " said Durgin, "andyou never talked wider of the mark. It doesn't take much muscle, ormuch courage either, to knock a man about when he's in liquor. Thetwo wasn't fairly matched. "

"You are right there, Durgin, " said Stevens, laying down hisnewspaper. "They weren't fairly matched. Both men have the samepounds and inches, but Torrini had a weapon and that mad strengththat comes to some folks with drink. If Shackford hadn't made a neattwist on the neckerchief, he wouldn't have got off with a scratch. "

"Shackford had no call to lay hands on him. "

"There you are wrong, Durgin, " replied Stevens. "Torrini had nocall in the yard; he was making a nuisance of himself. Shackfordspoke to him, and told him to go, and when he didn't go Shackford puthim out; and he put him out handsomely, --'with neatness anddispatch, ' as Slocum's prospectuses has it. "

"He was right all the time, " said Piggott. "He didn't strikeTorrini before or after he was down, and stood at the gate like agentleman, ready to give Torrini his chance if he wanted it. "

"Torrini didn't want it, " observed Jemmy Willson. "Ther' isn'tnothing mean about Torrini. "

"But he 'ad a dozen minds about coming back, " said Denyven. 

"We ought to have got him out of the place quietly, " said JeffStavers; "that was our end of the mistake. He is not a bad fellow, but he shouldn't drink. "

"He was crazy to come to the yard. "

"When a man 'as a day off, " observed Denyven, "and the beer isn'tnarsty, he 'ad better stick to the public 'ouse. "

"Oh, you!" exclaimed Durgin. "Your opinion don't weigh. You took ablack eye of him. "

"Yes, I took a black heye, --and I can give one, in a hemergency. Yes, I gives and takes. "

"That's where we differ, " returned Durgin. "I do a more genteelbusiness; I give, and don't take. "

"Unless you're uncommon careful, " said Denyven, pulling away athis pipe, "you'll find yourself some day henlarging your business. "

Durgin pushed back his stool. 

"Gentlemen! gentlemen!" interposed Mr. Snelling, appearing frombeind the bar with a lemon-squeezer in his hand, "we'll have no blackeyes here that wasn't born so. I am partial to them myself whennature gives them; and I propose the health of Miss Molly Hennessey, "with a sly glance at Durgin, who colored, "to be drank at the expenseof the house. Name your taps, gentlemen. "

"Snelling, me boy, ye'd wint the bird from the bush with yerbeguilin' ways. Ye've brought proud tears to the eyes of an agedparent, and I'll take a sup out of that high-showldered bottle whichyou kape under the counter for the gentle-folk in the other room. "

A general laugh greeted Mr. Hennessey's selection, and peace wasrestored; but the majority of those present were workmen fromSlocum's, and the event of the afternoon remained the uppermosttheme. 

"Shackford is a different build from Slocum, " said Piggott. 

"I guess the yard will find that out when he gets to beproprietor, " rejoined Durgin, clicking his spoon against the emptyglass to attract Snelling's attention. 

"Going to be proprietor, is he?"

"Some day or other, " answered Durgin. "First he'll step into thebusiness, and then into the family. He's had his eye on Slocum's girlthese four or five years. Got a cast of her fist up in his workshop. Leave Dick Shackford alone for lining his nest and making it soft allround. "

"Why shouldn't he?" asked Stevens. "He deserves a good girl, andthere's none better. If sickness or any sort of trouble comes to apoor man's door, she's never far off with her kind words and themthings the rich have when they are laid up. "

"Oh, the girl is well enough. "

"You couldn't say less. Before your mother died, "--Mrs. Durgin haddied the previous autumn, --"I see that angil going to your house manya day with a little basket of comforts tucked under her wing. Butshe's too good to be praised in such a place as this, " added Stevens. After a pause he inquired, "What makes you down on Shackford? He hasalways been a friend to you. "

"One of those friends who walk over your head, " replied Durgin. "Iwas in the yard two years before him, and see where he is. "

"Lord love you, " said Stevens, leaning back in his chair andcontemplating Durgin thoughtfully, "there is marble and marble; someis Carrara marble, and some isn't. The fine grain takes a polish youcan't get on to the other. "

"Of course, he is statuary marble, and I'm full of seams andfeldspar. "

"You are like the most of us, --not the kind that can be worked upinto anything very ornamental. "

"Thank you for nothing, " said Durgin, turning away. "I came fromas good a quarry as ever Dick Shackford. Where's Torrini to-night?"

"Nobody has seen him since the difficulty, " said Dexter, "exceptPeters. Torrini sent for him after supper. "

As Dexter spoke, the door opened and Peters entered. He wentdirectly to the group composed chiefly of Slocum's men, and withoutmaking any remark began to distribute among them certain small bluetickets, which they pocketed in silence. Glancing carelessly at hispiece of card-board, Durgin said to Peters, --

"Then it's decided?"

Peters nodded. 

"How's Torrini?"

"He's all right. "

"What does he say?"

"Nothing in perticular, " responded Peters, "and nothing at allabout his little skylark with Shackford. "

"He's a cool one!" exclaimed Durgin. 

Though the slips of blue pasteboard had been delivered andaccepted without comment, it was known in a second through thebar-room that a special meeting had been convened for the next nightby the officers of the Marble Workers' Association. 

XIV

On the third morning after Torrini's expulsion from the yard, Mr. Slocum walked into the studio with a printed slip in his hand. Asimilar slip lay crumpled under a work-bench, where Richard hadtossed it. Mr. Slocum's kindly visage was full of trouble andperplexity as he raised his eyes from the paper, which he had beenre-reading on the way up-stairs. 

"Look at that!"

"Yes, " remarked Richard, "I have been honored with one of thosedocuments. "

"What does it mean?"

"It means business. "

The paper in question contained a series of resolutionsunanimously adopted at a meeting of the Marble Workers' Associationof Stillwater, held in Grimsey's Hall the previous night. Droppingthe preamble, these resolutions, which were neatly printed with atype-writing machine on a half letter sheet, ran as follows:--

_Resolved, _ That on and after the First of June proximo, thepay of carvers in Slocum's Marble Yard shall be $2. 75 per day, instead of $2. 50 as heretofore. 

_Resolved, _ That on and after the same date, the rubbers andpolishers shall have $2. 00 per day, instead of $1. 75 as heretofore. 

_Resolved, _ That on and after the same date the millmen areto have $2. 00 per day, instead of $1. 75 as heretofore. 

_Resolved, _ That during the months of June, July, and Augustthe shops shall knock off work on Saturdays at five P. M. , instead ofat six P. M. 

_Resolved, _ That a printed copy of these Resolutions be laidbefore the Proprietor of Slocum's Marble Yard, and that his immediateattention to them be respectfully requested. _Per order ofCommittee M. W. A. _

"Torrini is at the bottom of that, " said Mr. Slocum. 

"I hardly think so. This arrangement, as I told you the other daybefore I had the trouble with him, has been in contemplation severalweeks. Undoubtedly Torrini used his influence to hasten the movementalready planned. The Association has too much shrewdness to espousethe quarrel of an individual. "

"What are we to do?"

"If you are in the same mind you were when we talked over thepossibility of an unreasonable demand like this, there is only onething to do. "

"Fight it?"

"Fight it. "

"I have been resolute, and all that sort of thing, in times past, "observed Mr. Slocum, glancing out of the tail of his eye at Richard, "and have always come off second best. The Association has drawn upmost of my rules for me, and had its own way generally. "

"Since my time you have never been in so strong a position to makea stand. We have got all the larger contracts out of the way. Foreseeing what was likely to come, I have lately fought shy oftaking new ones. Here are heavy orders from Rafter & Son, theBuilders' Company, and others. We must decline them by to-night'smail. "

"Is it really necessary?" asked Mr. Slocum, knitting his foreheadinto what would have been a scowl if his mild pinkish eyebrows hadpermitted it. 

"I think so. "

"I hate to do that. "

"Then we are at the mercy of the Association. "

"If we do not come to their terms, you seriously believe they willstrike?"

"I do, " replied Richard, "and we should be in a pretty fix. "

"But these demands are ridiculous. "

"The men are not aware of our situation; they imagine we have alot of important jobs on hand, as usual at this season. Formerly theforeman of a shop had access to the order-book, but for the last yearor two I have kept it in the safe here. The other day Dexter came tome and wanted to see what work was set down ahead in the blotter; butI had an inspiration and didn't let him post himself. "

"Is not some kind of compromise possible?" suggested Mr. Slocum, looking over the slip again. "Now this fourth clause, about closingthe yard an hour early on Saturdays, I don't strongly object to that, though with eighty hands it means, every week, eighty hours' workwhich the yard pays for and doesn't get. "

"I should advise granting that request. Such concessions are neverwasted. But, Mr. Slocum, this is not going to satisfy them. They havethrown in one reasonable demand merely to flavor the rest. I happento know that they are determined to stand by their programme to thelast letter. "

"You know that?"

"I have a friend at court. Of course this is not to be breathed, but Denyven, without being at all false to his comrades, talks freelywith me. He says they are resolved not to give an inch. "

"Then we will close the works. "

"That is what I wanted you to say, sir!" cried Richard. 

"With this new scale of prices and plenty of work, we mightprobably come out a little ahead the next six months; but it wouldn'tpay for the trouble and the capital invested. Then when tradeslackened, we should be running at a loss, and there'd be anotherwrangle over a reduction. We had better lie idle. "

"Stick to that, sir, and may be it will not be necessary. "

"But if they strike"--

"They won't all strike. At least, " added Richard, "I hope not. Ihave indirectly sounded several of the older hands, and they havehalf promised to hold on; only half promised, for every man of themat heart fears the trades-union more than No-bread--until No-breadcomes. "

"Whom have you spoken with?"

"Lumley, Giles, Peterson, and some others, --your pensioners, Icall them. "

"Yes, they were in the yard in my father's time; they have notbeen worth their salt these ten years. When the business was turnedover to me I didn't discharge any old hand who had given his bestdays to the yard. Somehow I couldn't throw away the squeezed lemons. An employer owes a good workman something beyond the wages paid. "

"And a workman owes a good employer something beyond the workdone. You stood by these men after they outlived their usefulness, and if they do not stand by you now, they're a shabby set. "

"I fancy they will, Richard. "

"I think they had better, and I wish they would. We have enoughodds and ends to keep them busy awhile, and I shouldn't like to havethe clinking of chisels die out altogether under the old sheds. "

"Nor I, " returned Mr. Slocum, with a touch of sadness in hisintonation. "It has grown to be a kind of music to me, " and he pausedto listen to the sounds of ringing steel that floated up from theworkshop. 

"Whatever happens, that music shall not cease in the yard excepton Sundays, if I have to take the mallet and go at a slab all alone. "

"Slocum's Yard with a single workman in it would be a pleasingspectacle, " said Mr. Slocum, smiling ruefully. 

"It wouldn't be a bad time for _that_ workman to strike, "returned Richard with a laugh. 

"He could dictate his own terms, " returned Mr. Slocum, soberly. "Well, I suppose you cannot help thinking about Margaret; but don'tthink of her now. Tell me what answer you propose to give theAssociation, --how you mean to put it; for I leave the matter whollyto you. I shall have no hand in it, further than to indorse youraction. "

"To-morrow, then, " said Richard, "for it is no use to hurry up acrisis, I shall go to the workshops and inform them that theirrequest for short hours on Saturdays is granted, but that the otherchanges they suggest are not to be considered. There will never be abetter opportunity, Mr. Slocum, to settle another question which hasbeen allowed to run too long. "

"What's that?"

"The apprentice question. "

"Would it be wise to touch on that at present?"

"While we are straightening out matters and putting things on asolid basis, it seems to me essential to settle that. There was nevera greater imposition, or one more short-sighted, than this rule whichprevents the training of sufficient workmen. The trades-union willdiscover their error some day when they have succeeded in forcingmanufacturers to import skilled labor by the wholesale. I would liketo tell the Marble Workers' Association that Slocum's Yard hasresolved to employ as many apprentices each year as there is roomfor. "

"I wouldn't dare risk it!"

"It will have to be done, sooner or later. It would be a capitalflank movement now. They have laid themselves open to an attack onthat quarter. "

"I might as well close the gates for good and all. "

"So you will, if it comes to that. You can afford to close thegates, and they can't afford to have you. In a week they'd be back, asking you to open them. Then you could have your pick of the livehands, and drop the dead wood. If Giles or Peterson or Lumley or anyof those desert us, they are not to be let on again. I hope you willpromise me that, sir. "

"If the occasion offers, you shall reorganize the shops in yourown way. I haven't the nerve for this kind of business, though I haveseen a great deal of it in the villages, first and last. Strikes areterrible mistakes. Even when they succeed, what pays for the losttime and the money squandered over the tavern-bar? What makes up forthe days or weeks when the fire was out on the hearth and thechildren had no bread? That is what happens, you know. "

"There is no remedy for such calamities, " Richard answered. "Yet Ican imagine occasions when it would be better to let the fire go outand the children want for bread. "

"You are not advocating strikes!" exclaimed Mr. Slocum. 

"Why not?"

"I thought you were for fighting them. "

"So I am, in this instance; but the question has two sides. Everyman has the right to set a price on his own labor, and to refuse towork for less; the wisdom of it is another matter. He puts himself inthe wrong only when he menaces the person or the property of the manwho has an equal right not to employ him. That is the blunderstrikers usually make in the end, and one by which they lose publicsympathy even when they are fighting an injustice. Now, sometimes it_is_ an injustice that is being fought, and then it is right tofight it with the only weapon a poor man has to wield against a powerwhich possesses a hundred weapons, --and that's a strike. For example, the smelters and casters in the Miantowona Iron Works are meanlyunderpaid. "

"What, have they struck?"

"There's a general strike threatened in the village; foundry-men, spinners, and all. "

"So much the worse for everybody! I did not suppose it was as badas that. What has become of Torrini?"

"The day after he left us he was taken on as forgeman at Dana's. "

"I am glad Dana has got him!"

"At the meeting, last night, Torrini gave in his resignation assecretary of the Association; being no longer a marble worker, he wasnot qualified to serve. "

"We unhorsed him, then?"

"Rather. I am half sorry, too. "

"Richard, " said Mr. Slocum, halting in one of his nervous walks upand down the room, "you are the oddest composition of hardness andsoftness I ever saw. "

"Am I?"

"One moment you stand braced like a lion to fight the whole yard, and the next moment you are pitying a miscreant who would have laidyour head open without the slightest compunction. "

"Oh, I forgive him, " said Richard. "I was a trifle hasty myself. Margaret thinks so too. "

"Much Margaret knows about it!"

"I was inconsiderate, to say the least. When a man picks up a toolby the wrong end he must expect to get cut. "

"You didn't have a choice. "

"I shouldn't have touched Torrini. After discharging him andfinding him disposed to resist my order to leave the yard, I ought tohave called in a constable. Usually it is very hard to anger me; butthree or four times in my life I have been carried away by a devil ofa temper which I couldn't control, it seized me so unawares. That wasone of the times. "

The mallets and chisels were executing a blithe staccato movementin the yard below, and making the sparks dance. No one walking amongthe diligent gangs, and observing the placid faces of the men as theybent over their tasks, would have suspected that they were awaitingthe word that meant bread and meat and home to them. 

As Richard passed through the shops, dropping a word to a workmanhere and there, the man addressed looked up cheerfully and made afurtive dab at the brown paper cap, and Richard returned the salutesmilingly; but he was sad within. "The foolish fellows, " he said tohimself, "they are throwing away a full loaf and are likely to getnone at all. " Giles and two or three of the ancients were squaring ablock of marble under a shelter by themselves. Richard made it apoint to cross over and speak to them. In past days he had not beenexacting with these old boys, and they always had a welcome for him. 

Slocum's Yard seldom presented a serener air of contented industrythan it wore that morning; but in spite of all this smooth outside itwas a foregone conclusion with most of the men that Slocum, withShackford behind him, would never submit to the new scale of wages. There were a few who had protested against these resolutions andstill disapproved of them, but were forced to go with theAssociation, which had really been dragged into the current by theother trades. 

 The Dana Mills and the Miantowona Iron Works were paying lighterwages than similar establishments nearer the great city. The managerscontended that they were paying as high if not higher rates, takinginto consideration the cheaper cost of living in Stillwater. "But youget city prices for your wares, " retorted the union; "you don't paycity rents, and you shall pay city wages. " Meetings were held atGrimsey's Hall and the subject was canvassed, at first calmly andthen stormily. Among the molders, and possibly the sheet-ironworkers, there was cause for dissatisfaction; but the dissatisfactionspread to where no grievance existed; it seized upon the spinners, and finally upon the marble workers. Torrini fanned the flame there. Taking for his text the rentage question, he argued that Slocum waswell able to give a trifle more for labor than his city competitors. "The annual rent of a yard like Slocum's would be four thousand orfive thousand dollars in the city. It doesn't cost Slocum two hundreddollars. It is no more than just that the laborer should have ashare--he only asks a beggarly share--of the prosperity which he hashelped to build up. " This was specious and taking. Then there camedown from the great city a glib person disguised as The Workingman'sFriend, --no workingman himself, mind you, but a ghoul that lives uponsubscriptions and sucks the senses out of innocent human beings, --whomanaged to set the place by the ears. The result of all which wasthat one May morning every shop, mill, and factory in Stillwater wasserved with a notice from the trades-union, and a general strikethreatened. 

But our business at present is exclusively with Slocum's Yard. 

XV

"Since we are in for it, " said Mr. Slocum the next morning, "putthe case to them squarely. "

Mr. Slocum's vertebrć had stiffened over night. 

"Leave that to me, sir, " Richard replied. "I have been shaping outin my mind a little speech which I flatter myself will cover thepoints. They have brought this thing upon themselves, and we areabout to have the clearest of understandings. I never saw the menquieter. "

"I don't altogether admire that. It looks as if they hadn't anydoubt as to the issue. "

"The clearest-headed have no doubt; they know as well as you and Ido the flimsiness of those resolutions. But the thick heads are in afog. Every man naturally likes his pay increased; if a simple fellowis told five or six hundred times that his wages ought to be raised, the idea is so agreeable and insidious that by and by he begins tobelieve himself grossly underpaid, though he may be getting twicewhat he is worth. He doesn't reason about it; that's the last thinghe'll do for you. In this mood he lets himself be flown away by thebreath of some loud-mouthed demagogue, who has no interest in thematter beyond hearing his own talk and passing round the hat afterthe meeting is over. That is what has happened to our folks below. But they _are_ behaving handsomely. "

"Yes, and I don't like it. "

Since seven o'clock the most unimpeachable decorum had reigned inthe workshops. It was now nine, and this brief dialogue had occurredbetween Mr. Slocum and Richard on the veranda, just as the latter wason the point of descending into the yard to have his talk with themen. 

The workshops--or rather the shed in which the workshops were, forit was one low structure eighteen or twenty feet wide and open on thewest side--ran the length of the yard, and with the short extensionat the southerly end formed the letter L. There were no partitions, an imaginary line separating the different gangs of workers. A personstanding at the head of the building could make himself heard more orless distinctly in the remotest part. 

The grating lisp of the wet saws eating their way into the marblebowlder, and the irregular quick taps of the seventy or eightymallets were not suspended as Richard took his stand beside a tallfunereal urn at the head of the principal workshop. After a second'sfaltering he rapped smartly on the lip of the ukrn with the key ofhis studio-door. 

Instantly every arm appeared paralyzed, and the men stoodmotionless, with the tools in their hands. 

Richard began in a clear but not loud voice, though it seemed toring on the sudden silence:--

"Mr. Slocum has asked me to say a few words to you, this morning, about those resolutions, and one or two other matters that haveoccurred to him in this connection. I am no speech-maker; I neverlearned that trade"--

"Never learned any trade, " muttered Durgin, inaudibly. 

--"but I think I can manage some plain, honest talk, forstraight-forward men. "

Richard's exordium was listened to with painful attention. 

"In the first place, " he continued, "I want to remind you, especially the newer men, that Slocum's Yard has always given steadywork and prompt pay to Stillwater hands. No hand has ever been turnedoff without sufficient cause, or kept on through mere favoritism. Favors have been shown, but they have been shown to all alike. Ifanything has gone crooked, it has been straightened out as soon asMr. Slocum knew of it. That has been the course of the yard in thepast, and the Proprietor doesn't want you to run away with the ideathat that course is going to be changed. One change, for the timebeing, is going to be made at our own suggestion. From now, until the1st of September, this yard will close gates on Saturdays at fiveP. M. Instead of six P. M. "

Several voices cried, "Good for Slocum!" "Where's Slocum?" "Whydon't Slocum speak for himself?" cried one voice. 

"It is Mr. Slocum's habit, " answered Richard, "to give hisdirections to me, I give them to the foremen, and the foremen to theshops. Mr. Slocum follows that custom on this occasion. With regardto the new scale of wages which the Association has submitted to him, the Proprietor refuses to accept it, or any modification of it. "

A low murmur ran through the workshops. 

"What's a modificashun, sir?" asked Jemmy Willson, steppingforward, and scratching his left ear diffidently. 

"A modification, " replied Richard, considerably embarrassed togive an instant definition, "is a--a"--

"A splitting of the difference, by--!" shouted somebody in thethird shop. 

"Thank you, " said Richard, glancing in the direction of hisimpromptu Webster's Unabridged. "Mr. Slocum does not propose to splitthe difference. The wages in every department are to be just whatthey are, --neither more nor less. If anybody wishes to make aremark, " he added, observing a restlessness in several of the men, "Ibeg he will hold on until I get through. I shall not detain you muchlonger, as the parson says before he has reached the middle of hissermon. 

"What I say now, I was charged to make particularly clear to you. It is this: In future Mr. Slocum intends to run Slocum's Yardhimself. Neither you, nor I, nor the Association will be allowed torun it for him. [Sensation. ] Until now the Association has tied himdown to two apprentices a year. From this hour, out, Mr. Slocum willtake on, not two, or twenty, but two hundred apprentices if thebusiness warrants it. "

The words were not clearly off Richard's lips when the foreman ofthe shop in which he was speaking picked up a couple of small drills, and knocked them together with a sharp click. In an instant the menlaid aside their aprons, bundled up their tools, and marched out ofthe shed two by two, in dead silence. That same click was repeatedalmost simultaneously in the second shop, and the same evolution tookplace. Then click, click, click! went the drills, sounding fainterand fainter in the distant departments; and in less than threeminutes there was not a soul left in Slocum's Yard except the Oratorof the Day. 

Richard had anticipated some demonstration, either noisy orviolent, perhaps both; but this solemn, orderly desertion dashed him. 

He stepped into the middle of the yard, and glancing up beheldMargaret and Mr. Slocum standing on the veranda. Even at thatdistance he could perceive the pallor on one face, and theconsternation written all over the other. 

Hanging his head with sadness, Richard crossed the yard, whichgave out mournful echoes to his footfalls, and swung to the largegate, nearly catching old Giles by the heel as he did so. Lookingthrough the slats, he saw Lumley and Peterson hobbling arm in armdown the street, --after more than twenty-five years of kindlytreatment. 

"Move number one, " said Richard, lifting the heavy cross-pieceinto its place and fastening it with a wooden pin. "Now I must go andprop up Mr. Slocum. "

XVI

There is no solitude which comes so near being tangible as that ofa vast empty workshop, crowded a moment since. The busy, intense lifethat has gone from it mysteriously leaves behind enough of itself tomake the stillness poignant. One might imagine the invisible ghost ofdoomed Toil wandering from bench to bench, and noiselessly fingeringthe dropped tools, still warm from the workman's palm. Perhaps thisimpalpable presence is the artisan's anxious thought, stolen back tobrood over the uncompleted task. 

Though Mr. Slocum had spoken lightly of Slocum's Yard with onlyone workman in it, when he came to contemplate the actual fact he wasstruck by the pathos of it, and the resolution with which he awokethat morning began to desert him. 

"The worst is over, " exclaimed Richard, joining his two friends onthe veranda, "and everything went smoother than I expected. "

"Everything went, sure enough, " said Mr. Slocum, gloomily; "theyall went, --old Giles, and Lumley, and everybody. "

"We somewhat expected that, you know. "

"Yes, I expected it, and wasn't prepared for it. "

"It was very bad, " said Richard, shaking his head. 

The desertion of Giles and his superannuated mates especiallytouched Mr. Slocum. 

"Bad is no word; it was damnable. "

"Oh, papa!"

"Pardon me, dear; I couldn't help it. When a man's pensionersthrow him over, he must be pretty far gone!"

"The undertow was too strong for them, sir, and they were sweptaway with the rest. And they all but promised to stay. They will bethe very first to come back. "

"Of course we shall have to take the old fellows on again, " saidMr. Slocum, relenting characteristically. 

"Never!" cried Richard. 

"I wish I had some of your grit. "

"I have none to spare. To tell the truth, when I stood up there tospeak, with every eye working on me, like a half-inch drill, I wouldhave sold myself at a low figure. "

"But you were a perfect what's-his-name, --Demosthenes, " said Mr. Slocum, with a faint smile. "We could hear you. "

"I don't believe Demosthenes ever moved an audience as I didmine!" cried Richard gaily. "If his orations produced a like effect, I am certain that the Grecian lecture-bureau never sent him twice tothe same place. "

"I don't think, Richard, I would engage you over again. "

"I am sure Richard spoke very well, " interrupted Margaret. "Hisspeech was short"--

"Say shortened, Margaret, for I hadn't got through when theyleft. "

"No, I will not jest about it. It is too serious for jesting. Whatis to become of the families of all these men suddenly thrown out ofemployment?"

"They threw themselves out, Mag, " said her father. 

"That does not mend the matter, papa. There will be greatdestitution and suffering in the village with every mill closed; andthey are all going to close, Bridget says. Thank Heaven that this didnot happen in the winter!"

"They always pick their weather, " observed Mr. Slocum. 

"It will not be for long, " said Richard encouragingly. "Our ownhands and the spinners, who had no ground for complaint, will returnto work shortly, and the managers of the iron mills will have toyield a point or two. In a week at the outside everything will berunning smoothly, and on a sounder foundation than before. I believethe strike will be an actual benefit to everybody in the end. "

By dint of such arguments and his own sanguine temperament, Richard succeeded in reassuring Mr. Slocum for the time being, thoughRichard did not hide from himself the gravity of the situation. Therewas a general strike in the village. Eight hundred men were withoutwork. That meant, or would mean in a few days, two or three thousandwomen and children without bread. It does not take the wolf long toreach a poor man's door when it is left ajar. 

The trades-union had a fund for emergencies of this sort, and someoutside aid might be looked for; but such supplies are in theirnature precarious and soon exhausted. It is a noticeable feature ofstrikes that the moment the workman's pay stops his living expensesincrease. Even the more economical becomes improvident. If he hasmoney, the tobacco shop and the tavern are likely to get more of itthan the butcher's cart. The prolonged strain is too great to beendured without stimulant. 

XVII

During the first and second days of the strike, Stillwaterpresented an animated and even a festive appearance. Throngs ofoperatives in their Sunday clothes strolled through the streets, orlounged at the corners chatting with other groups; some wandered intothe suburbs, and lay in the long grass under the elms. Others again, though these were few, took to the turnpike or the railroad track, and tramped across country. 

It is needless to say that the bar-room of the tavern was crowdedfrom early morning down to the hour when the law compelled Mr. Snelling to shut off his gas. After which, John Brown's "soul" couldbe heard "marching on" in the darkness, through various crooked lanesand alleys, until nearly daybreak. 

Among the earliest to scent trouble in the air was Han-Lin, theChinaman before mentioned. He kept a small laundry in Mud Lane, wherehis name was painted perpendicularly on a light of glass in thebasement window of a tenement house. Han-Lin intended to be buriedsome day in a sky-blue coffin in his own land, and have a dozen packsof firecrackers decorously exploded over his remains. In order toreserve himself for this and other ceremonies involving the burningof a great quantity of gilt paper, he quietly departed for Boston atthe first sign of popular discontent. As Dexter described it, "Han-Lin coiled up his pig-tail, put forty grains of rice in a yallarbag, --enough to last him a month!--and toddled off in his two-storywooden shoes. " He could scarcely have done a wiser thing, for poorHan-Lin's laundry was turned wrong side out within thirty-six hoursafterwards. 

The strike was popular. The spirit of it spread, as fire and feverand all elemental forces spread. The two apprentices in Brackett'sbakery had a dozen minds about striking that first morning. Theyounger lad, Joe Wiggin, plucked up courage to ask Brackett for a dayoff, and was lucky enough to dodge a piece of dough weighing nearlyfour pounds. 

Brackett was making bread while the sun shone. He knew that beforethe week was over there would be no cash customers, and he purposedthen to shut up shop. 

On the third and fourth days there was no perceptible fall in thebarometer. Trade was brisk with Snelling, and a brass band wasplaying national airs on a staging erected on the green in front ofthe post-office. Nightly meetings took place at Grimsey's Hall, andthe audiences were good-humored and orderly. Torrini advanced someUtopian theories touching a universal distribution of wealth, whichwere listened to attentively, but failed to produce deep impression. 

"That's a healthy idea of Torrini's about dervidin' up property, "said Jemmy Willson. "I've heerd it afore; but it's sing'ler I neverknowd a feller with any property to have that idea. "

"Ther' 's a great dale in it, I can tell ye, " replied MichaelHennessey, with a well-blackened Woodstock pipe between his teeth andhis hands tucked under his coat-tails. "Isn't ther', MistherStavens?"

When Michael had on his bottle-green swallow-tailed coat with thebrass buttons, he invariably assumed a certain lofty air of ceremonyin addressing his companions. 

"It is sorter pleasant to look at, " returned Stevens, "but itdon't seem to me an idea that would work. Suppose that, after all theproperty was divided, a fresh shipload of your friends was to land atNew York or Boston; would there be a new deal?"

"No, sir! by no means!" exclaimed Michael excitedly. "Thefurreners is counted out!"

"But you're a foreigner yourself, Mike. "

"Am I, then? Bedad, I'm not! I'm a rale American Know Nothing. "

"Well, Mike, " said Stevens maliciously, "when it comes to areg'lar division of lands and greenbacks in the United States, I goin for the Chinese having their share. "

"The Chinese!" shouted Michael. "Oh, murther, Misther Stevens! Yewouldn't be fur dividin' with thim blatherskites!"

"Yes, with them, --as well as the rest, " returned Stevens, dryly. 

Meanwhile the directors and stockholders of the various mills tookcounsel in a room at the rear of the National Bank. Mr. Slocum, following Richard's advice, declined to attend the meeting in person, or to allow his name to figure on the list of vice-presidents. 

"Why should we hitch our good cause to their doubtful one?"reflected Richard. "We have no concessions or proposals to make. Whenour men are ready to come back to us, they will receive just wagesand fair treatment. They know that. We do not want to fight themolders. Let the iron-mills do their own fighting;" and Richardstolidly employed himself in taking an account of stock, andforwarding by express to their destination the ten or twelve carvedmantel-pieces that happily completed the last contract. 

Then his responsibilities shrunk to winding up the office clockand keeping Mr. Slocum firmly on his legs. The latter was by far themore onerous duty, for Mr. Slocum ran down two or three times in thecourse of every twenty-four hours, while the clock once wound wasfixed for the day. 

"If I could only have a good set of Waltham works put into yourfather, " said Richard to Margaret, after one of Mr. Slocum'srelapses, "he would go better. "

"Poor papa! he is not a fighter, like you. "

"Your father is what I call a belligerent non-combatant. "

Richard was seeing a great deal of Margaret these days. Mr. Slocumhad invited him to sleep in the studio until the excitement was past. Margaret was afraid to have him take that long walk between the yardand his lodgings in Lime Street, and then her father was an old manto be without any protection in the house in such untoward times. 

So Richard slept in the studio, and had his plate at table, likeone of the family. This arrangement was favorable to many a stolenfive minutes with Margaret, in the hall or on the staircase. In thesefortuitous moments he breathed an atmosphere that sustained him inhis task of dispelling Mr. Slocum's recurrent fits of despondency. Margaret had her duties, too, at this period, and the forenoons weresacred to them. 

One morning as she passed down the street with a small wickerbasket on her arm, Richard said to Mr. Slocum, --

"Margaret has joined the strikers. "

The time had already come to Stillwater when many a sharp-facedlittle urchin--as dear to the warm, deep bosom that had nursed it asthough it were a crown prince--would not have had a crust to gnaw ifMargaret Slocum had not joined the strikers. Sometimes her heartdrooped on the way home from these errands, upon seeing how little ofthe misery she could ward off. On her rounds there was one cottage ina squalid lane where the children asked for bread in Italian. Shenever omitted to halt at that door. 

"Is it quite prudent for Margaret to be going about so?" queriedMr. Slocum. 

"She is perfectly safe, " said Richard, --"as safe as a Sister ofCharity, which she is. "

Indeed, Margaret might then have gone loaded with diamonds throughthe streets at midnight. There was not a rough man in Stillwater whowould not have reached forth an arm to shield her. 

"It is costing me nearly as much as it would to carry on theyard, " said Mr. Slocum, "but I never put out any stamps morewillingly. "

"You never took a better contract, sir, than when you agreed tokeep Margaret's basket filled. It is an investment in realestate--hereafter. "

"I hope so, " answered Mr. Slocum, "and I know it's a good thingnow. "

Of the morals of Stillwater at this time, or at any time, the lesssaid the better. But out of the slime and ooze below sprang the whiteflower of charity. 

The fifth day fell on a Sabbath, and the churches were crowded. The Rev. Arthur Langly selected his text from St. Matthew, chap. Xxii, v. 21: "Render therefore unto Cćsar the things which areCćsar's. " But as he did not make it quite plain which was Cćsar, --thetrades-union or the Miantowona Iron Works, --the sermon went fornothing, unless it could be regarded as a hint to those persons whohad stolen a large piece of belting from the Dana Mills. On the otherhand, Father O'Meara that morning bravely told his children toconduct themselves in an orderly manner while they were out of work, or they would catch it in this world and in the next. 

On the sixth day a keen observer might have detected a change inthe atmosphere. The streets were thronged as usual, and the idlersstill wore their Sunday clothes, but the holiday buoyancy of theearlier part of the week had evaporated. A turn-out on the part ofone of the trades, though it was accompanied by music and a bannerwith a lively inscription, failed to arouse general enthusiasm. Aserious and even a sullen face was not rare among the crowds thatwandered aimlessly up and down the village. 

On the seventh day it required no penetration to see the change. There was decidedly less good-natured chaffing and more drunkenness, though Snelling had invoked popular contumely and decimated hisbar-room by refusing to trust for drinks. Bracket had let his ovenscool, and his shutters were up. The treasury of the trades-union wasnearly drained, and there were growlings that too much had beenfooled away on banners and a brass band for the iron men's parade theprevious forenoon. It was when Brackett's eye sighted the banner with"Bread or Blood" on it, that he had put up his shutters. 

Torrini was now making violent harangues at Grimsey's Hall tolargely augmented listeners, whom his words irritated withoutconvincing. Shut off from the tavern, the men flocked to hear him andthe other speakers, for born orators were just then as thick asunripe whortleberries. There was nowhere else to go. At home werereproaches that maddened, and darkness, for the kerosene had givenout. 

Though all the trades had been swept into the movement, it is notto be understood that every workman was losing his head. There weremen who owned their cottages and had small sums laid by in thesavings-bank; who had always sent their children to the districtschool, and listened themselves to at least one of Mr. Langly'ssermons or one of Father O'Meara's discourses every Sunday. Thesewere anchored to good order; they neither frequented the bar-room norattended the conclaves at Grimsey's Hall, but deplored as deeply asany one the spirit that was manifesting itself. They would havereturned to work now--if they had dared. To this class belongedStevens. 

"Why don't you come up to the hall, nights?" asked Durgin, accosting him on the street, one afternoon. "You'd run a chance ofhearing me hold forth some of these evenings. "

"You've answered your own question, William. I shouldn't like tosee you making an idiot of yourself. "

"This is a square fight between labor and capital, " returnedDurgin with dignity, "and every man ought to take a hand in it. "

"William, " said Stevens meditatively, "do you know about theSiamese twins?"

"What about 'em, --they're dead, ain't they?" replied Durgin, withsurprise. 

"I believe so; but when they was alive, if you was to pinch one ofthose fellows, the other fellow would sing out. If you was to blackthe eye of the left-hand chap, the right-hand chap wouldn't have beenable to see for a week. When either of 'em fetched the other a clip, he knocked himself down. Labor and capital is jined just as those twowas. When you've got this fact well into your skull, William, I shallbe pleased to listen to your ideas at Grimsey's Hall or anywhereelse. "

Such conservatism as Stevens's, however, was necessarily swept outof sight for the moment. The wealthier citizens were in a statebordering on panic, --all but Mr. Lemuel Shackford. In his flappinglinen duster, for the weather was very sultry now, Mr. Shackford wasseen darting excitedly from street to street and hovering about thefeverish crowds, like the stormy petrel wheeling on the edges of agale. Usually as chary of his sympathies as of his gold, heastonished every one by evincing an abnormal interest in thestrikers. The old man declined to put down anything on thesubscription paper then circulating; but he put down his sympathiesto any amount. He held no stock in the concerns involved; he hatedSlocum, and he hated the directors of the Miantowona Iron Works. Theleast he hoped was that Rowland Slocum would be laid out. 

So far the strikers had committed no overt act of note, unless itwas the demolition of Han-Lin's laundry. Stubbs, the provisiondealer, had been taught the rashness of exposing samples of potatoesin his door-way, and the "Tonsorial Emporium" of Professor Brown, acolored citizen, had been invaded by two humorists, who, after havingtheir hair curled, refused to pay for it, and the professor had beentoo agitated to insist. The story transpiring, ten or twelve of theboys had dropped in during the morning, and got shaved on the sameterms. "By golly, gen'l'men!" expostulated the professor, "ef dis yahthing goes on, dis darkey will be cleaned cl'ar out fo de week'sdone. " No act of real violence had been perpetrated as yet; but withbands of lawless men roaming over the village at all hours of the dayand night, the situation was critical. 

The wheel of what small social life there was in Stillwater hadceased to revolve. With the single exception of Lemuel Shackford, themore respectable inhabitants kept in-doors as much as practicable. From the first neither Mr. Craggie nor Lawyer Perkins had gone to thehotel to consult the papers in the reading-room, and Mr. Pinkham didnot dare to play on his flute of an evening. The Rev. Arthur Langlyfound it politic to do but little visiting in the parish. His was notthe pinion to buffet with a wind like this, and indeed he was notexplicitly called upon to do so. He sat sorrowfully in his study dayby day, preparing the weekly sermon, --a gentle, pensive person, inclined in the best of weather to melancholia. If Mr. Langly hadgone into arboriculture instead of into the ministry, he would haveplanted nothing but weeping-willows. 

In the mean time the mill directors continued their deliberationsin the bank building, and had made several abortive attempts toeffect an arrangement with the leaders of the union. This seemedevery hour less possible and more necessary. 

On the afternoon of the seventh day of the strike a crowd gatheredin front of the residence of Mr. Alexander, the superintendent of theMiantowona Iron Works, and began groaning and hooting. Mr. Alexandersought out Mr. Craggie, and urged him, as a man of local weight andone accustomed to addressing the populace, to speak a few words tothe mob. That was setting Mr. Craggie on the horns of a crueldilemma. He was afraid to disoblige the representative of so powerfula corporation as the Miantowona Iron Works, but he equally dreaded torisk his popularity with seven or eight hundred voters; so, like thecrafty chancellor in Tennyson's poem, he dallied with his goldenchain, and, smiling, but the question by. 

"Drat the man!" muttered Mr. Craggie, "does he want to blast mywhole political career! _I_ can't pitch into our adoptedcountrymen. "

There was a blot on the escutcheon of Mr. Craggie which he wasvery anxious not to have uncovered by any chance in these latterdays, --his ancient affiliation with the deceased native Americanparty. 

The mob dispersed without doing damage, but the fact that it hadcollected and had shown an ugly temper sent a thrill of apprehensionthrough the village. Mr. Slocum came in a great flurry to Richard. 

"This thing ought to be stopped, " said Mr. Slocum. 

"I agree to that, " replied Richard, bracing himself not to agreeto anything else. 

"If we were to drop that stipulation as to the increase ofapprentices, no doubt many of the men would give over insisting on anadvance. "

"Our only salvation is to stick to our right to train as manyworkmen as we choose. The question of wages is of no account comparedwith that; the rate of wages will adjust itself. "

"If we could manage it somehow with the marble workers, " suggestedMr. Slocum, "that would demoralize the other trades, and they'd beobliged to fall in. "

"I don't see that they lack demoralization. "

"If something isn't done, they'll end up by knocking in our frontdoors or burning us all up. "

"Let them. "

"It's very well to say let them, " exclaimed Mr. Slocum, petulantly, "when you haven't any front door to be knocked in!"

"But I have you and Margaret to consider, if there were actualdanger. When anything like violence threatens, there's an honestshoulder for every one of the hundred and fifty muskets in thearmory. "

"Those muskets might get on the wrong shoulders. "

"That isn't likely. You do not seem to know, sir, that there is astrong guard at the armory day and night. "

"I was not aware of that. "

"It is a fact all the same, " said Richard; and Mr. Slocum wentaway easier in his mind, and remained so--two or three hours. 

On the eighth, ninth, and tenth days the clouds lay very blackalong the horizon. The marble workers, who began to see theirmistake, were reproaching the foundry men with enticing them into tocoalition, and the spinners were hot in their denunciations of themolders. Ancient personal antagonisms that had been slumberingstarted to their feet. Torrini fell out of favor, and in the midst ofone of his finest perorations uncomplimentary missiles, selected fromthe animal kingdom, had been thrown at him. The grand torchlightprocession on the night of the ninth culminated in a disturbance, inwhich many men got injured, several badly, and the windows ofBrackett's bakery were stove in. A point of light had pierced thedarkness, --the trades were quarreling among themselves!

The selectmen had sworn in special constables among the citizens, and some of the more retired streets were now patrolled after dark, for there had been threats of incendiarism. 

Bishop's stables burst into flames one midnight, --whether firedintentionally or accidentally was not known; but the giant bellows atDana's Mills was slit and two belts were cut at the Miantowona IronWorks that same night. 

At this juncture a report that out-of-town hands were coming toreplace the strikers acted on the public mind like petroleum on fire. A large body of workmen assembled near the railway station, --towelcome them. There was another rumor which caused the marble workersto stare at each other aghast. It was to the effect that Mr. Slocum, having long meditated retiring from business, had now decided to doso, and was consulting with Wyndham, the keeper of the green-house, about removing the division wall and turning the marble yard into apeach garden. This was an unlooked-for solution of the difficulty. Stillwater without any Slocum's Marble Yard was chaos come again. 

"Good Lord, boys!" cried Piggott, "if Slocum should do that!"

Meanwhile, Snelling's bar had been suppressed by the authorities, and a posse of policemen, borrowed from South Millville, occupied thepremises. Knots of beetle-browed men, no longer in holiday gear, butchiefly in their shirt-sleeves, collected from time to time at thehead of the main street, and glowered threateningly at the singlepoliceman pacing the porch of the tavern. The Stillwater Grays wereunder arms in the armory over Dundon's drugstore. The thoroughfarehad ceased to be safe for any one, and Margaret's merciful errandswere necessarily brought to an end. How the poor creatures who haddepended on her bounty now continued to exist was a sorrowfulproblem. 

Matters were at this point, when on the morning of the thirteenthday Richard noticed the cadaverous face of a man peering into theyard through the slats of the main gate. Richard sauntered downthere, with his hands in his pockets. The man was old Giles, and withhim stood Lumley and Peterson, gazing thoughtfully at the signoutside, --

NO ADMITTANCE EXCEPT ON BUSINESS. 

The roughly lettered clapboard, which they had heedlessly passed athousand times, seemed to have taken a novel significance to them. 

_Richard_. What's wanted there?

_Giles. [Very affably. ]_ We was lookin' round for a job, Mr. Shackford. 

_Richard_. We are not taking on any hands at present. 

_Giles_. Didn't know but you was. Somebody said you was. 

_Richard_. Somebody is mistaken. 

_Giles_. P'rhaps to-morrow, or nex' day?

_Richard_. Rather doubtful, Giles. 

_Giles. [Uneasily. ]_ Mr. Slocum ain't goin' to give upbusiness, is he?

_Richard_. Why shouldn't he, if it doesn't pay? The businessis carried on for his amusement and profit; when the profit stops itwon't be amusing any longer. Mr. Slocum is not going to run the yardfor the sake of the Marble Workers' Association. He would ratherdrive a junk-cart. He might be allowed to steer that himself. 

_Giles_. Oh!

_Richard_. Good-morning, Giles. 

_Gikles_. 'Mornin', Mr. Shackford. 

Richard rushed back to Mr. Slocum. 

"The strike is broken, sir!"

"What do you mean?"

"The thing has collapsed! The tide is turning, _and has washedin a lot of dead wood!"_

"Thank God!" cried Mr. Slocum. 

An hour or so later a deputation of four, consisting of Stevens, Denyven, Durgin, and Piggott, waited upon Mr. Slocum in his privateoffice, and offered, on behalf of all the departments, to resume workat the old rates. 

Mr. Slocum replied that he had not objected to the old rates, butthe new, and that he accepted their offer--conditionally. 

"You have overlooked one point, Mr. Stevens. "

"Which one, sir?"

"The apprentices. "

"We thought you might not insist there, sir. "

"I insist on conducting my own business in my own way. "

The voice was the voice of Slocum, but the backbone was Richard's. 

"Then, sir, the Association don't object to a reasonable number ofapprentices. "

"How many is that?"

"As many as you want, I expect, sir, " said Stevens, shuffling hisfeet. 

"Very well, Stevens. Go round to the front gate and Mr. Shackfordwill let you in. "

There were two doors to the office, one leading into the yard, andthe other, by which the deputation had entered and was now making itsexit, opened upon the street. 

Richard heaved a vast sigh of relief as he took down the beamsecuring the principal entrance. 

"Good-morning, boys, " he chirped, with a smile as bright as newlyminted gold. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves. "

The quartet ducked their heads bashfully, and Stevens replied, "Can't speak for the others, Mr. Shackford, but I never enjoyedmyself worse. "

Piggott lingered a moment behind the rest, and looking back overhis shoulder said, "That peach garden was what fetched us!"

Richard gave a loud laugh, for the peach garden had been ahorticultural invention of his own. 

In the course of the forenoon the majority of the hands presentedthemselves at the office, dropping into the yard in gangs of five orsix, and nearly all were taken on. To dispose definitely of Lumley, Giles, and Peterson, they were not taken on at Slocum's Yard, thoughthey continued to be, directly or indirectly, Slocum's pensioners, even after they were retired to the town farm. 

Once more the chisels sounded merrily under the long shed. Thatsame morning the spinners went back to the mules, but the moldersheld out until nightfall, when it was signified to them that theydemands would be complied with. 

The next day the steam-whistles of the Miantowona Iron Works andDana's Mills sent the echoes flying beyond that undulating line ofpines and hemlocks which half encircles Stillwater, and falls awayloosely on either side, like an unclasped girdle. 

A calm, as if from out the cloudless blue sky that arched it dayafter day, seemed to drift down upon the village. Han-Lin, with nomore facial expression than an orange, suddenly reappeared on thestreets, and went about repairing his laundry, unmolested. Thechildren were playing in the sunny lanes again, unafraid, and motherssat on doorsteps in the summer twilights, singing softly to the babyin arm. There was meat on the table, and the tea-kettle hummedcomfortably at the back of the stove. The very winds that rustledthrough the fragrant pines, and wandered fitfully across the vividgreen of the salt marshes, breathed peace and repose. 

Then, one morning, this blissful tranquility was rudely shattered. Old Mr. Lemuel Shackford had been found murdered in his own house inWelch's Court. 

XVIII

The general effect on Stillwater of Mr. Shackford's death and thepeculiar circumstances attending the tragedy have been set forth inthe earlier chapters of this narrative. The influence which thatevent exerted upon several persons then but imperfectly known to thereader is now to occupy us. 

On the conclusion of the strike, Richard had returned, in thehighest spirits, to his own rooms in Lime Street; but the quiet weekthat followed found him singularly depressed. His nerves had beenstrung to their utmost tension during those thirteen days ofsuspense; he had assumed no light responsibility in the matter ofclosing the yard, and there had been moments when the task ofsustaining Mr. Slocum had appeared almost hopeless. Now that thestrain was removed a reaction set in, and Richard felt himselfunnerved by the fleeing shadow of the trouble which had not causedhim to flinch so long as it faced him. 

On the morning and at the moment when Mary Hennessey was pushingopen the scullery door of the house in Welch's Court, and was aboutto come upon the body of the forlorn old man lying there in hisnight-dress, Richard sat eating his breakfast in a silent andpreoccupied mood. He had retired very late the previous night, andhis lack-lustre eyes showed the effect of insufficient sleep. Hissingle fellow-boarder, Mr. Pinkham, had not returned from hiscustomary early walk, and only Richard and Mrs. Spooner, thelandlady, were at table. The former was in the act of lifting thecoffee-cup to his lips, when the school-master burst excitedly intothe room. 

"Old Mr. Shackford is dead!" he exclaimed, dropping into a chairnear the door. "There's a report down in the village that he has beenmurdered. I don't know if it is true. . . . . God forgive myabruptness! I didn't think!" and Mr. Pinkham turned an apologeticface towards Richard, who sat there deathly pale, holding the cuprigidly within an inch or two of his lip, and staring blankly intospace like a statue. 

"I--I ought to have reflected, " murmured the school-master, covered with confusion at his maladroitness. "It was veryreprehensible in Craggie to make such an announcement to me sosuddenly, on a street corner. I--I was quite upset by it. "

Richard pushed back his chair without replying, and passed intothe hall, where he encountered a messenger from Mr. Slocum, confirming Mr. Pinkham's intelligence, but supplementing it with therumor that Lemuel Shackford had committed suicide. 

Richard caught up his hat from a table, and hurried to Welch'sCourt. Before reaching the house he had somewhat recovered hisoutward composure; but he was still pale and internally muchagitated, for he had received a great shock, as Lawyer Perkinsafterwards observed to Mr. Ward in the reading-room of the tavern. Both these gentlemen were present when Richard arrived, as were alsoseveral of the immediate neighbors and two constables. The latterwere guarding the door against the crowd, which had already begun tocollect in the front yard. 

A knot of carpenters, with their tool-boxes on their shoulders, had halted at the garden gate on their way to Bishop's new stables, and were glancing curiously at the unpainted façade of the house, which seemed to have taken on a remote, bewildered expression, as ifit had an inarticulate sense of the horror within. The men ceasedtheir whispered conversation as Richard approached, and respectfullymoved aside to let him pass. 

Nothing had been changed in the cheerless room on the groundfloor, with its veneered mahogany furniture and its yellowish leprouswall-paper, peeling off at the seams here and there. A cane-seatedchair, overturned near the table, had been left untouched, and thebody was still lying in the position in which the Hennessey girl haddiscovered it. A strange chill--something unlike any atmosphericalsharpness, a chill that seemed to exhale from the thin, pinchednostrils--permeated the apartment. The orioles were singing madlyoutside, their vermilion bosoms glowing like live coals against thetender green of the foliage, and appearing to break into flame asthey took sudden flights hither and thither; but within all wasstill. On entering the chamber Richard was smitten by thesilence, --that silence which shrouds the dead, and is like no other. Lemuel Shackford had not been kind or cousinly; he had blightedRichard's childhood with harshness and neglect, and had lately heapedcruel insult upon him; but as he stood there alone, and gazed for amoment at the firmly shut lips, upon which the mysterious white dustof death had already settled, --the lips that were never to utter anymore bitter things, --the tears gathered in Richard's eyes and ranslowly down his cheeks. After all said and done, Lemuel Shackford washis kinsman, and blood is thicker than water!

Coroner Whidden shortly appeared on the scene, accompanied by anumber of persons; a jury was impaneled, and then began that inquestwhich resulted in shedding so very little light on the catastrophe. 

The investigation completed, there were endless details to attendto, --papers to be hurriedly examined and sealed, and arrangementsmade for the funeral on the succeeding day. These matters occupiedRichard until late in the afternoon, when he retired to his lodgings, looking in on Margaret for a few minutes on his way home. 

"This is too dreadful!" said Margaret, clinging to his hand, withfingers nearly as icy as his own. 

"It is unspeakably sad, " answered Richard, --"the saddest thing Iever knew. "

"Who--who could have been so cruel?"

Richard shook his head. 

"No one knows. "

The funeral took place on Thursday, and on Friday morning, as hasbeen stated, Mr. Taggett arrived in Stillwater, and installed himselfin Welch's Court, to the wonder of many in the village, who would nothave slept a night in that house, with only a servant in the northgable, for half the universe. Mr. Taggett was a person who did notallow himself to be swayed by his imagination. 

Here, then, he began his probing of a case which, on the surface, promised to be a very simple one. The man who had been seen drivingrapidly along the turnpike sometime near daybreak, on Wednesday, waspresumably the man who could tell him all about it. But it did notprove so. Neither Thomas Blufton, nor William Durgin, nor any of thetramps subsequently obliged to drop into autobiography could beconnected with the affair. 

These first failures served to stimulate Mr. Taggett; it requireda complex case to stir his ingenuity and sagacity. That the presentwas not a complex case he was still convinced, after four days'futile labor upon it. Mr. Shackford had been killed--either withmalice prepense or on the spur of the moment--for his money. Thekilling had likely enough not been premeditated; the old man hadprobably opposed the robbery. Now, among the exceptionally roughpopulation of the town there were possibly fifty men who would nothave hesitated to strike down Mr. Shackford if he had caught them_flagrante delicto_ and resisted them, or attempted to call forsuccor. That the crime was committed by some one in Stillwater or inthe neighborhood Mr. Taggett had never doubted since the day of hisarrival. The clumsy manner in which the staple had been wrenched fromthe scullery door showed the absence of a professional hand. Then thefact that the deceased was in the habit of keeping money in hisbedchamber was a fact well known in the village, and not likely to beknown outside of it, though of course it might have been. It wasclearly necessary for Mr. Taggett to carry his investigation into theworkshops and among the haunts of the class which was indubitably tofurnish him with the individual he wanted. Above all, it wasnecessary that the investigation should be secret. An obstacleobtruded itself here: everybody in Stillwater knew everybody, and astranger appearing on the streets or dropping frequently into thetavern would not escape comment. 

The man with the greatest facility for making the requisitesearches would of course be some workman. But a workman was the veryagent not to be employed under the circumstances. How many times, andby what strange fatality, had a guilty party been selected to shadowhis own movements, or those of an accomplice! No, Mr. Taggett mustrely only on himself, and his plan forthwith matured. Its execution, however, was delayed several days, the cooperation of Mr. Slocum andMr. Richard Shackford being indispensable. 

At this stage Richard went to New York, where his cousin had madeextensive investments in real estate. For a careful man, the late Mr. Shackford had allowed his affairs there to become strangely tangled. The business would detain Richard a fortnight. 

Three days after his departure Mr. Taggett himself leftStillwater, having apparently given up the case; a proceeding whichwas severely criticized, not only in the columns of The StillwaterGazette, but by the townsfolks at large, who immediately relapsedinto a state of apprehension approximating that of the morning whenthe crime was discovered. Mr. Pinkham, who was taking tea thatevening at the Danas', threw the family into a panic by asserting hisbelief that this was merely the first of a series of artisticassassinations in the manner of those Memorable Murders recorded byDe Quincey. Mr. Pinkham may have said this to impress the four Danagirls with the variety of his reading, but the recollection of DeQuincey's harrowing paper had the effect of so unhinging the youngschool-master that when he found himself, an hour or two afterwards, in the lonely, unlighted street he flitted home like a belated ghost, and was ready to drop at every tree-box. 

The next forenoon a new hand was taken on at Slocum's Yard. Thenew hand, who had come on foot from South Millville, at which town hehad been set down by the seven o'clock express that morning, wasplaced in the apprentice department, --there were five or sixapprentices now. Though all this was part of an understoodarrangement, Mr. Slocum nearly doubted the fidelity of his own eyeswhen Mr. Taggett, a smooth-faced young fellow of one and twenty, ifso old, with all the traits of an ordinary workman down to theneglected fingernails, stepped up to the desk to have the name ofBlake entered on the pay-roll. Either by chance or by design, Mr. Taggett had appeared but seldom on the streets of Stillwater; the fewpersons who had had anything like familiar intercourse with him inhis professional capacity were precisely the persons with whom hispresent movements were not likely to bring him into juxtaposition, and he ran slight risk of recognition by others. With his hairclosely cropped, and the overhanging brown mustache removed, the manwas not so much disguised as transformed. "I shouldn't have knownhim!" muttered Mr. Slocum, as he watched Mr. Taggett passing from theoffice with his hat in his hand. During the ensuing ten or twelvedays Mr. Slocum never wholly succeeded in extricating himself fromthe foggy uncertainty generated by that one brief interview. From themoment Mr. Taggett was assigned a bench under the sheds, Mr. Slocumsaw little or nothing of him. 

Mr. Taggett took lodging in a room in one of the most crowded ofthe low boarding-houses, --a room accommodating two beds besides hisown: the first occupied by a brother neophyte in marble-cutting, andthe second by a morose middle-aged man with one eyebrow a triflehigher than the other, as if it had been wrenched out of line by thestrain of habitual intoxication. This man's name was Wollaston, andhe worked at Dana's. 

Mr. Taggett's initial move was to make himself popular in themarble yard, and especially at the tavern, where he spent moneyfreely, though not so freely as to excite any remark except that thelad was running through pretty much all his small pay, --arecklessness which was charitably condoned in Snelling's bar-room. Heformed multifarious friendships, and had so many sensible views onthe labor problem, advocating the general extinguishment ofcapitalists, and so on, that his admittance to the Marble Workers'Association resolved itself into merely a question of time. The oldprejudice against apprentices was already wearing off. The quiet, evasive man of few words was now a loquacious talker, holding his ownwith the hardest hitters, and very skillful in giving offense to noone. "Whoever picks up Blake for a fool, " Dexter remarked one night, "will put him down again. " Not a shadow of suspicion followed Mr. Taggett in his various comings and goings. He seemed merely agood-natured, intelligent devil; perhaps a little less devilish and atrifle more intelligent than the rest, but not otherwise different. Denyven, Peters, Dexter, Willson, and others in and out of the Slocumclique were Blake's sworn friends. In brief, Mr. Taggett had theamplest opportunities to prosecute his studies. Only for a painedlook which sometimes latterly shot into his eyes, as he worked at thebench, or as he walked alone in the street, one would have imaginedthat he was thoroughly enjoying the half-vagabond existence. 

The supposition would have been erroneous, for in the progress ofthose fourteen days' apprenticeship Mr. Taggett had received a woundin the most sensitive part of his nature: he had been forced to giveup what no man ever relinquishes without a wrench, --his own idea. 

With the exception of an accident in Dana's Mill, by whichTorrini's hand had been so badly mangled that amputation was deemednecessary, the two weeks had been eventless outside of Mr. Taggett'spersonal experience. What that experience was will transpire in itsproper place. Margaret was getting daily notes from Richard, and Mr. Slocum, overburdened with the secret of Mr. Taggett's presence in theyard, --a secret confined exclusively to Mr. Slocum, Richard, andJustice Beemis, --was restlessly awaiting developments. 

The developments came that afternoon when Mr. Taggett walked intothe office and startled Mr. Slocum, sitting at the desk. The twowords which Mr. Taggett then gravely and coldly whispered in Mr. Slocum's ear were, --

"RICHARD SHACKFORD. "

XIX

Mr. Slocum, who had partly risen from the chair, sank back intohis seat. "Good God!" he said, turning very pale. "Are you mad?"

Mr. Taggett realized the cruel shock which the pronouncing of thatname must have caused Mr. Slocum. Mr. Taggett had meditated his lineof action, and had decided that the most merciful course wasbrusquely to charge young Shackford with the crime, and allow Mr. Slocum to sustain himself for a while with the indignant disbeliefwhich would be natural to him, situated as he was. He would then in amanner be prepared for the revelations which, if suddenly presented, would crush him. 

If Mr. Taggett was without imagination, as he claimed, he was notwithout a certain feminine quickness of sympathy often found inpersons engaged in professions calculated to blunt the finersensibilities. In his intercourse with Mr. Slocum at the Shackfordhouse, Mr. Taggett had been won by the singular gentleness andsimplicity of the man, and was touched by his misfortune. 

After his exclamation, Mr. Slocum did not speak for a moment ortwo, but with his elbows resting on the edge of the desk satmotionless, like a person stunned. Then he slowly lifted his face, towhich the color had returned, and making a movement with his righthand as if he were sweeping away cobwebs in front of him rose fromthe chair. 

"You are simply mad, " he said, looking Mr. Taggett squarely andcalmly in the eyes. "Are you aware of Mr. Richard Shackford'scharacter and his position here?"

"Precisely. "

"Do you know that he is to marry my daughter?"

"I am very sorry for you, sir. "

"You may spare me that. It is quite unnecessary. You have falleninto some horrible delusion. I hope you will be able to explain it. "

"I am prepared to do so, sir. "

"Are you serious?"

"Very serious, Mr. Slocum. "

"You actually imagine that Richard Shackford--Pshaw! It's simplyimpossible!"

"I am too young a man to wish even to seem wiser than you, but myexperience has taught me that nothing is impossible. "

"I begin to believe so myself. I suppose you have grounds, orsomething you consider grounds, for your monstrous suspicion. Whatare they? I demand to be fully informed of what you have been doingin the yard, before you bring disgrace upon me and my family byinconsiderately acting on some wild theory which perhaps ten wordscan refute. "

"I should be in the highest degree criminal, Mr. Slocum, if I wereto make so fearful an accusation against any man unless I had themost incontestable evidence in my hands. "

Mr. Taggett spoke with such cold-blooded conviction that a chillcrept over Mr. Slocum, in spite of him. 

"What is the nature of this evidence?"

"Up to the present stage, purely circumstantial. "

"I can imagine that, " said Mr. Slocum, with a slight smile. 

"But so conclusive as to require no collateral evidence. Thetestimony of an eye-witness of the crime could scarcely add to myknowledge of what occurred that Tuesday night in Lemuel Shackford'shouse. "

"Indeed, it is all so clear! But of course a few eye-witnesseswill turn up eventually, " said Mr. Slocum, whose whiteness about thelips discounted the assurance of his sarcasm. 

"That is not improbable, " returned Mr. Taggett. 

"And meanwhile what are the facts?"

"They are not easily stated. I have kept a record of my work dayby day, since the morning I entered the yard. The memoranda arenecessarily confused, the important and the unimportant being jumbledtogether; but the record as it stands will answer your question morefully than I could, even if I had the time--which I have not--to goover the case with you. I can leave these notes in your hands, if youdesire it. When I return from New York"--

"You are going to New York!" exclaimed Mr. Slocum, with a start. "When?"

"This evening. "

"If you lay a finger on Richard Shackford, you will make themistake of your life, Mr. Taggett!"

"I have other business there. Mr. Shackford will be in Stillwaterto-morrow night. He engaged a state-room on the Fall River boat thismorning. "

"How can you know that?"

"Since last Tuesday none of his movements have been unknown tome. "

"Do you mean to say that you have set your miserable spies uponhim?" cried Mr. Slocum. 

"I should not state the fact in just those words, " Mr. Taggettanswered. "The fact remains. "

"Pardon me, " said Mr. Slocum. "I am not quite myself. Can youwonder at it?"

"I do not wonder. "

"Give me those papers you speak of, Mr. Taggett. I would like tolook through them. I see that you are a very obstinate person whenyou have once got a notion into your head. Perhaps I can help you outof your error before it is irreparable. " Then, after hesitating asecond, Mr. Slocum added, "I may speak of this to my daughter?Indeed, I could scarcely keep it from her. "

"Perhaps it is better she should be informed. "

"And Mr. Shackford, when he returns to-morrow?"

"If he broaches the subject of his cousin's death, I advise you toavoid it. "

"Why should I?"

"It might save you or Miss Slocum some awkwardness, --but you mustuse your own discretion. As the matter stands it makes no differencewhether Mr. Shackford knows his position to-day or to-morrow. It istoo late for him to avail himself of the knowledge. Otherwise, ofcourse, I should not have given myself away in this fashion. "

"Very well, " said Mr. Slocum, with an impatient movement of hisshoulders; "neither I nor my daughter will open our lips on thistopic. In the mean while you are to take no further steps withoutadvising me. That is understood?"

"That is perfectly understood, " returned Mr. Taggett, drawing anarrow red note-book from the inner pocket of his workman's blouse, and producing at the same time a small nickel-plated door-key. "Thisis the key of Mr. Shackford's private workshop in the extension. Ihave not been able to replace it on the mantel-shelf of hissitting-room in Lime Street. Will you have the kindness to see thatit is done at once?"

A moment later Mr. Slocum stood alone in the office, with Mr. Taggett's diary in his hand. It was one of those costly littlevolumes--gilt-edged and bound in fragrant crushed Levantmorocco--with which city officials are annually supplied by acommunity of grateful taxpayers. 

The dark crimson of the flexible covers, as soft and slippery tothe touch as a snake's skin, was perhaps the fitting symbol of thedarker story that lay coiled within. With a gesture of repulsion, asif some such fancy had flitted through his mind, Mr. Slocum tossedthe note-book on the desk in front of him, and stood a few minutesmoodily watching the _reflets_ of the crinkled leather as theafternoon sunshine struck across it. Beneath his amazement andindignation he had been chilled to the bone by Mr. Taggett's brutalconfidence. It was enough to chill one, surely; and in spite ofhimself Mr. Slocum began to feel a certain indefinable dread of thatlittle crimson-bound book. 

Whatever it contained, the reading of those pages was to be arepellent task to him; it was a task to which he could not bringhimself at the moment; to-night, in the privacy of his own chamber, he would sift Mr. Taggett's baleful fancies. Thus temporizing, Mr. Slocum dropped the volume into his pocket, locked the office doorbehind him, and wandered down to Dundon's drug-store to kill theintervening hour before supper-time. Dundon's was the aristocraticlounging place of the village, --the place where the only genuineHavana cigars in Stillwater were to be had, and where the favoredfew, the initiated, could get a dash of hochheimer or cognac withtheir soda-water. 

At supper, that evening, Mr. Slocum addressed scarcely a word toMargaret, and Margaret was also silent. The days were draggingheavily with her; she was missing Richard. Her own daring travels hadnever extended beyond Boston or Providence; and New York, withRichard in it, seemed drearily far away. Mr. Slocum withdrew to hischamber shortly after nine o'clock, and, lighting the pair of candleson the dressing-table, began his examination of Mr. Taggett'smemoranda. 

At midnight the watchman on his lonely beat saw those two candlesstill burning. 

XX

Mr. Taggett's diary was precisely a diary, --disjoined, full ofcurt, obscure phrases and irrelevant reflections, --for which reasonit will not be reproduced here. Though Mr. Slocum pondered everysyllable, and now and then turned back painfully to reconsider somedoubtful passage, it is not presumed that the reader will care to doso. An abstract of the journal, with occasional quotation where thewriter's words seem to demand it, will be sufficient for thenarrative. 

In the opening pages Mr. Taggett described his novel surroundingswith a minuteness which contrasted oddly with the brief, hurriedentries further on. He found himself, as he had anticipated, in asociety composed of some of the most heterogeneous elements. Stillwater, viewed from a certain point, was a sort of microcosm, alittle international rag-fair to which nearly every country on earthhad contributed one of its shabby human products. "I am moving, "wrote Mr. Taggett, "in an atmosphere in which any crime is possible. I give myself seven days at the outside to light upon the traces ofShackford's murder. I feel him in the air. " The writer's theory wasthat the man would betray his identity in one of two ways: either bytalking unguardedly, or by indulging in expenditures not warranted byhis means and position. If several persons had been concerned in thecrime, nothing was more likely than a disagreement over the spoil, and consequent treachery on the part of one of them. Or, again, someof the confederates might become alarmed, and attempt to savethemselves by giving away their comrades. Mr. Taggett, however, leaned to the belief that the assassin had had no accomplices. 

The sum taken from Mr. Shackford's safe was a comparatively largeone, --five hundred dollars in gold and nearly double that amount inbank-notes. Neither the gold nor the paper bore any known mark bywhich it could be recognized; the burglar had doubtless assuredhimself of this, and would not hesitate to disburse the money. Thatwas even a safer course, judiciously worked, than to secrete it. Thepoint was, Would he have sufficient self-control to get rid of it bydegrees? The chances, Mr. Taggett argued, were ten to one he wouldnot. 

A few pages further on Mr. Taggett compliments the Unknown on theadroit manner in which he is conducting himself. He has neither letslip a suspicious word, nor made an incautious display of his booty. Snelling's bar was doing an unusually light business. No one appearedto have any money. Many of the men had run deeply into debt duringthe late strike, and were now drinking moderately. In the paragraphwhich closes the week's record Mr. Taggett's chagrin is evident. Heconfesses that he is at fault. "My invisible friend does not_materialize_ so successfully as I expected, " is Mr. Taggett'scomment. 

His faith in the correctness of his theory had not abated; but hecontinued his observation sin a less sanguine spirit. Theseobservations were not limited to the bar-room or the workshop; heinformed himself of the domestic surroundings of his comrades. Wherehis own scrutiny could not penetrate, he employed the aid ofcorrespondents. He knew what workmen had money in the localsavings-bank, and the amount of each deposit. In the course of hisexplorations of the shady side of Stillwater life, Mr. Taggettunearthed many amusing and many pathetic histories, but nothing thatserved his end. Finally, he began to be discouraged. 

Returning home from the tavern, one night, in a rather despondingmood, he found the man Wollaston smoking his pipe in bed. Wollastonwas a taciturn man generally, but this night he was conversational, and Mr. Taggett, too restless to sleep, fell to chatting with him. Did he know much about the late Mr. Shackford? Yes, he had known himwell enough, in an off way, --not to speak of him; everybody knew himin Stillwater; he was a sort of miser, hated everybody, and bulliedeverybody. It was a wonder somebody didn't knock the old silvertop onthe head years ago. 

Thus Mr. Wollaston grimly, with his pores stopped up withiron-fillings, --a person to whom it would come quite easy to knockany one on the head for a slight difference of opinion. He amused Mr. Taggett in his present humor. 

No, he wasn't aware that Shackford had had trouble with anyparticular individual; believed he did have a difficulty once withSlocum, the marble man; but he was always fetching suits against thetown and shying lawyers at the mill directors, --a disagreeable oldcuss altogether. Adopted his cousin, one time, but made the house sohot for him that the lad ran off to sea, and since then had hadnothing to do with the old bilk. 

Indeed! What sort of fellow was young Shackford? Mr. Wollastoncould not say of his own knowledge; thought him a plucky chap; he hadput a big Italian named Torrini out of the yard, one day, for talkingback. Who was Torrini? The man that got hurt last week in the DanaMill. Who were Richard Shackford's intimates? Couldn't say; had seenhim with Mr. Pinkham, the school-master, and Mr. Craggie, --went withthe upper crust generally. Was going to be partner in the marble yardand marry Slocum's daughter. Will Durgin knew him. They livedtogether one time. He, Wollaston, was going to turn in now. 

Several of these facts were not new to Mr. Taggett, but Mr. Wollaston's presentation of them threw Mr. Taggett into a reverie. 

The next evening he got Durgin alone in a corner of the bar-room. With two or three potations Durgin became autobiographical. Was heacquainted with Mr. Shackford outside the yard? Rather. DickShackford? His (Durgin's) mother had kept Dick from starving when hewas a baby, --and no thanks for it. Went to school with him, and knewall about his running off to sea. Was near going with him. Old manShackford never liked Dick, who was a proud beggar; they couldn'tpull together, down to the last, --both of a piece. They had a jollyrumpus a little while before the old man was fixed. 

Mr. Taggett pricked up his ears at this. 

A rumpus? How did Durgin know that? A girl told him. What girl? Agirl he was sweet on. What was her name? Well, he didn't mind tellingher name; it was Molly Hennessey. She was going through Welch's Courtone forenoon, --may be it was three days before the strike, --and sawDick Shackford bolt out of the house, swinging his arms and swearingto himself at an awful rate. Was Durgin certain that Molly Hennesseyhad told him this? Yes, he was ready to take his oath on it. 

Here, at last, was something that looked like a glimmer ofdaylight. 

It was possible that Durgin or the girl had lied; but the storyhad an air of truth to it. If it were a fact that there had recentlybeen a quarrel between these cousins, whose uncousinly attitudetowards each other was fast becoming clear to Mr. Taggett, then herewas a conceivable key to an enigma which had puzzled him. 

The conjecture that Lemuel Shackford had himself torn up thewill--if it was a will, for this still remained in dispute--had neverbeen satisfactory to Mr. Taggett. He had accepted it because he wasunable to imagine an ordinary burglar pausing in the midst of hiswork to destroy a paper in which he could have no concern. ButRichard Shackford would have the liveliest possible interest in thedestruction of a document that placed a vast estate beyond his reach. Here was a motive on a level with the crime. That money had beentaken, and that the fragments of the will had been carelessly throwninto a waste-paper basket, just as if the old man himself had thrownthem there, was a stroke of art which Mr. Taggett admired more andmore as he reflected upon it. 

He did not, however, allow himself to lay too much stress on thesepoints; for the paper might turn out to be merely an expired lease, and the girl might have been quizzing Durgin. Mr. Taggett would havegiven one of his eye-teeth just then for ten minutes with MaryHennessey. But an interview with her at this stage was neitherprudent nor easily compassed. 

"If I have not struck a trail, " writes Mr. Taggett, "I have comeupon what strongly resembles one; the least I can do is to follow it. My first move must be to inspect that private workshop in the rear ofMr. Slocum's house. How shall I accomplish it? I cannot apply to himfor permission, for that would provoke questions which I am not readyto answer. Moreover, I have yet to assure myself that Mr. Slocum isnot implicated. There seems to have been also a hostile feelingexisting between him and the deceased. Why didn't some one tell methese things at the start! If young Shackford is the person, there isa tangled story to be unraveled. _Mem:_ Young Shackford is MissSlocum's lover. "

Mr. Slocum read this passage twice without drawing breath, andthen laid down the book an instant to wipe the sudden perspirationfrom his forehead. 

In the note which followed, Mr. Taggett described the difficultyhe met with in procuring a key to fit the wall-door at the rear ofthe marble yard, and gave an account of his failure to effect anentrance into the studio. He had hoped to find a window unfastened;but the window, as well as the door opening upon the veranda, waslocked, and in the midst of his operations, which were conducted atnoon-time, the approach of a servant had obliged him to retreat. 

Forced to lay aside, at least temporarily, his designs on theworkshop, he turned his attention to Richard's lodgings in LimeStreet. Here Mr. Taggett was more successful. On the pretext that hehad been sent for certain drawings which were to be found on thetable or in a writing-desk, he was permitted by Mrs. Spooner toascend to the bedroom, where she obligingly insisted on helping himsearch for the apocryphal plans, and seriously interfered with hispurpose, which was to find the key of the studio. While Mr. Taggettwas turning over the pages of a large dictionary, in order to gaintime, and was wondering how he could rid himself of the old lady'simportunities, he came upon a half-folded note-sheet, at the bottomof which his eye caught the name of Lemuel Shackford. It was in thehandwriting of the dead man. Mr. Taggett was very familiar with thathandwriting. He secured the paper at a venture, and put it in hispocket without examination. 

A few minutes later, it being impossible to prolong the pretendedquest for the drawings, Mr. Taggett was obliged to follow Mrs. Spooner from the apartment. As he did so he noticed a bright objectlying on the corner of the mantel-shelf, --a small nickel-plated key. In order to take it he had only to reach out his hand in passing. Itwas, as Mr. Taggett had instantly surmised, the key of Richard'sworkshop. 

If it had been gold, instead of brass or iron, that bit of metalwould have taken no additional value in Mr. Taggett's eyes. Onleaving Mrs. Spooner's he held it tightly clasped in his fingersuntil he reached an unfrequented street, where he halted a moment inthe shadow of a building to inspect the paper, which he had halfforgotten in his satisfaction at having obtained the key. A stifledcry rose to Mr. Taggett's lips as he glanced over the crumplednote-sheet. 

It contained three lines, hastily scrawled in lead-pencil, requesting Richard Shackford to call at the house in Welch's Court ateight o'clock on a certain Tuesday night. The note had been written, as the date showed, on the day preceding the Tuesday night inquestion--the night of the murder!

For a second or two Mr. Taggett stood paralyzed. Ten minutesafterwards a message in cipher was pulsing along the wires to NewYork, and before the sun went down that evening Richard Shackford wasunder the surveillance of the police. 

The doubtful, unknown ground upon which Mr. Taggett had beenfloundering was now firm under his feet, --unexpected ground, butsolid. Meeting Mary Hennessey in the street, on his way to the marbleyard, Mr. Taggett no longer hesitated to accost her, and question heras to the story she had told William Durgin. The girl's story wasundoubtedly true, and as a piece of circumstantial evidence was onlyless important than the elder Shackford's note. The two cousins hadbeen for years on the worst of terms. At every step Mr. Taggett hadfound corroboration of Wollaston's statement to that effect. 

"Where were Coroner Whidden's eyes and ears, " wrote Mr. Taggett, --the words were dashed down impatiently on the page, as ifhe had sworn a little internally while writing them, --"when heconducted that inquest! In all my experience there was never a thingso stupidly managed. "

A thorough and immediate examination of Richard Shackford'sprivate workshop was now so imperative that Mr. Taggett resolved tomake it even if he had to do so under the authority of asearch-warrant. But he desired as yet to avoid publicity. 

A secret visit to the studio seemed equally difficult by day andnight. In the former case he was nearly certain to be deranged by theservants, and in the latter a light in the unoccupied room wouldalarm any of the household who might chance to awaken. From thewatchman no danger was to be apprehended, as the windows of theextension were not visible from the street. 

Mr. Taggett finally decided on the night as the more propitioustime for his attempt, --a decision which his success justified. Abrilliant moon favored the in-door part of the enterprise, though itexposed him to observation in his approach from the marble yard tothe veranda. 

With the dense moonlight streaming outside against thewindow-shades, he could safely have used a candle in the studioinstead of the screened lantern which he had provided. Mr. Taggettpassed three hours in the workshop, --the last hour in waiting for themoon to go down. Then he stole through the marble yard into thesilent street, and hurried home, carrying two small articlesconcealed under his blouse. The first was a chisel with a triangularpiece broken out of the centre of the bevel, and the other was a boxof safety-matches. The peculiarity of this box of matches was--thatjust one match had been used from it. 

Mr. Taggett's work was done. 

The last seven pages of the diary were devoted to a review of thecase, every detail of which was held up in various lights, andexamined with the conscientious pains of a lapidary deciding on thevalue of a rare stone. The concluding entries ran as follow:--

_"Tuesday Night_. Here the case passes into other hands. Ihave been fortunate rather than skillful in unmasking the chief actorin one of the most singular crimes that ever came under myinvestigation. By destroying three objects, very easily destroyed, Richard Shackford would have put himself beyond the dream ofsuspicion. He neglected to remove these dumb witnesses, and now thedumb witnesses speak! If it could be shown that he was a hundredmiles from Stillwater at the time of the murder, instead of in thevillage, as he was, he must still be held, in the face of the proofsagainst him, accessory to the deed. These proofs, roughly summarized, are:--

_"First_. The fact that he had had an altercation with hiscousin a short time previous to the date of the murder, --a murderwhich may be regarded not as the result of a chance disagreement, butof long years of bitter enmity between the two men. 

_"Secondly_. The fact that Richard Shackford had had anappointment with his cousin on the night the crime was committed, andhad concealed that fact from the authorities at the time of thecoroner's inquest. 

_"Thirdly_. That the broken chisel found in the privateworkshop of the accused explains the peculiar shape of the woundwhich caused Lemuel Shackford's death, and corresponds in everyparticular with the plaster impression taken of that wound. 

_"Fourthly_. That the partially consumed match found on thescullery floor when the body was discovered (a style of match notused in the house in Welch's Court) completes the complement of a boxof safety-matches belonging to Richard Shackford, and hidden in acloset in his workshop. 

"Whether Shackford had an accomplice or not is yet to beascertained. There is nothing whatever to implicate Mr. RowlandSlocum. I make the statement because his intimate association withone party and his deep dislike of the other invited inquiry, and atfirst raised an unjust suspicion in my mind. "

The little red book slipped from Mr. Slocum's grasp and fell athis feet. As he rose from the chair, the reflection which he caughtof himself in the dressing-table mirror was that of a wrinkled, whiteold man. 

Mr. Slocum did not believe, and no human evidence could haveconvinced him, that Richard had deliberately killed Lemuel Shackford;but as Mr. Slocum reached the final pages of the diary, a horribleprobability insinuated itself in his mind. Could Richard have done itaccidentally? Could he--in an instant of passion, stung to suddenmadness by that venomous old man--have struck him involuntarily, andkilled him? A certain speech which Richard had made in Mr. Slocum'spresence not long before came back to him now with fearfulemphasis:--

_"Three or four times in my life I have been carried away by adevil of a temper which I couldn't control, it seized me sounawares. "_

"It seized me so unawares!" repeated Mr. Slocum, half aloud; andthen with a swift, unconscious gesture, he pressed his hands over hisears, as if to shut out the words. 

XXI

Margaret must be told. It would be like stabbing her to tell herall this. Mr. Slocum had lain awake long after midnight, appalled bythe calamity that was about to engulf them. At moments, as histhought reverted to Margaret's illness early in the spring, he feltthat perhaps it would have been a mercy if she had died then. He hadleft the candles burning; it was not until the wicks sunk down in thesockets and went softly out that slumber fell upon him. 

He was now sitting at the breakfast-table, absently crumbling bitsof bread beside his plate and leaving his coffee untouched. Margaretglanced at him wistfully from time to time, and detected the restlessnight in the deepened lines of his face. 

The house had not been the same since Lemuel Shackford's death; hehad never crossed its threshold; Margaret had scarcely known him bysight, and Mr. Slocum had not spoken to him for years; but Richard'sconnection with the unfortunate old man had brought the tragic eventvery close to Margaret and her father. Mr. Slocum was a person easilydepressed, but his depression this morning was so greatly in excessof the presumable cause that Margaret began to be troubled. 

"Papa, has anything happened?"

"No, nothing new has happened; but I am dreadfully disturbed bysome things which Mr. Taggett has been doing here in the village. "

"I thought Mr. Taggett had gone. "

"He did go; but he came back very quietly without anybody'sknowledge. I knew it, of course; but no one else, to speak of. "

"What has he done to disturb you?"

"I want you to be a brave girl, Margaret, --will you promise that?"

"Why, yes, " said Margaret, with an anxious look. "You frighten mewith your mysteriousness. "

"I do not mean to be mysterious, but I don't quite know how totell you about Mr. Taggett. He has been working underground in thismatter of poor Shackford's death, --boring in the dark like amole, --and thinks he has discovered some strange things. "

"Do you mean he thinks he has found out whoi killed Mr. Shackford?"

"He believes he has fallen upon clews which will lead to that. Thestrange things I alluded to are things which Richard will have toexplain. "

"Richard? What has he to do with it?"

"Not much, I hope; but there are several matters which he will beobliged to clear up in order to save himself from very greatannoyance. Mr. Taggett seems to think that--that"--

"Good heavens, papa! What does he think?"

"Margaret, he thinks that Richard knew something about the murder, and has not told it. "

"What could he know? Is that all?"

"No, that is not all. I am keeping the full truth from you, and itis useless to do so. You must face it like a brave girl. Mr. Taggettsuspects Richard of being concerned, directly or indirectly, with thecrime. "

The color went from Margaret's cheek for an instant. The statementwas too horrible and sudden not to startle her, but it was also tooabsurd to have more than an instant's effect. Her quick recovery ofherself reassured Mr. Slocum. Would she meet Mr. Taggett's specificcharges with the like fortitude? Mr. Slocum himself had beenprostrated by them; he prayed to Heaven that Margaret might have morestrength than he, as indeed she had. 

"The man has got together a lot of circumstantial evidence, "continued Mr. Slocum cautiously; "some of it amounts to nothing, being mere conjecture; but some of it will look badly for Richard, tooutsiders. "

"Of course it is all a mistake, " said Margaret, in nearly hernatural voice. "It ought to be easy to convince Mr. Taggett of that. "

"I have not been able to convince him. "

"But you will. What has possessed him to fall into such aridiculous error?"

"Mr. Taggett has written out everything at length in thismemorandum-book, and you must read it for yourself. There areexpressions and statements in these pages, Margaret, that willnecessarily shock you very much; but you should remember, as I triedto while reading them, that Mr. Taggett has a heart of steel; withoutit he would be unable to do his distressing work. The coldimpartiality with which he sifts and heaps up circumstances involvingthe doom of a fellow-creature appears almost inhuman; but it is hisbusiness. No, don't look at it here!" said Mr. Slocum, recoiling; hehad given the book to Margaret. "Take it into the other room, andread it carefully by yourself. When you have finished, come back andtell me what you think. "

"But, papa, surely you"--

"I don't believe anything, Margaret! I don't know the true fromthe false any more! I want you to help me out of my confusion, andyou cannot do it until you have read that book. "

Margaret made no response, but passed into the parlor and closedthe folding-doors behind her. 

After an absence of half an hour she reentered the breakfast room, and laid Mr. Taggett's diary on the table beside her father, who hadnot moved from his place during the interval. Margaret's manner wascollected, but it was evident, by the dark circles under her eyes, and the set, colorless lips, that that half hour had been a cruelthirty minutes to her. In Margaret's self-possession Mr. Slocumrecognized, not for the first time, the cropping out of an ancestraltrait which had somehow managed to avoid him in its wayward descent. 

"Well?" he questioned, looking earnestly at Margaret, and catchinga kind of comfort from her confident bearing. 

"It is Mr. Taggett's trade to find somebody guilty, " saidMargaret, "and he has been very ingenious and very merciless. He wasplainly at his wits' ends to sustain his reputation, and would nothave hesitated to sacrifice any onen rather than wholly fail. "

"But you have been crying, Margaret. "

"How could I see Richard dragged down in the dust in this fashion, and not be mortified and indignant?"

"You don't believe anything at all of this?"

"Do _you?"_ asked Margaret, looking through and through him. 

"I confess I am troubled. "

"If you doubt Richard for a second, " said Margaret, with a slightquiver of her lip, "that will be the bitterest part of it to me. "

"I don't give any more credit to Mr. Taggett's general chargesthan you do, Margaret; but I understand their gravity better. Aperfectly guiltless man, one able with a single word to establish hisinnocence, is necessarily crushed at first by an accusation of thiskind. Now, can Richard set these matters right with a single word? Iam afraid he has a world of difficulty before him. "

"When he returns he will explain everything. How can you questionit?"

"I do not wish to; but there are two things in Mr. Taggett's storywhich stagger me. The motive for the destruction of Shackford'spapers, --that's not plain; the box of matches is a puerility unworthyof a clever man like Mr. Taggett, and as to the chisel he found, why, there are a hundred broken chisels in the village, and probably ascore of them broken in precisely the same manner; but, Margaret, didRichard every breathe a word to you of that quarrel with his cousin?"

"No. "

"He never mentioned it to me either. As matters stood between youand him, nothing was more natural than that he should have spoken ofit to you, --so natural that his silence is positively strange. "

"He may have considered it too unimportant. Mr. Shackford alwaysabused Richard; it was nothing new. Then, again, Richard is veryproud, and perhaps he did not care to come to us just at that timewith family grievances. Besides, how do we know they quarreled? Thevillage is full of gossip. "

"I am certain there was a quarrel; it was only necessary for thosetwo to meet to insure that. I distinctly remember the forenoon whenRichard went to Welch's Court; it was the day he discharged Torrini. "

A little cloud passed over Margaret's countenance. 

"They undoubtedly had angry words together, " continued Mr. Slocum, "and we are forced to accept the Hennessey girl's statement. Thereason you suggest for Richard's not saying anything on the subjectmay suffice for us, but it will scarcely satisfy disinterestedpersons, and doesn't at all cover another circumstance which must betaken in the same connection. "

"What circumstance?"

"His silence in regard to Lemuel Shackford's note, --a note writtenthe day before the murder, and making an appointment for the verynight of it. "

The girl looked steadily at her father. 

"Margaret!" exclaimed Mr. Slocum, his face illuminated with aflickering hope as he met her untroubled gaze, "did Richard tell_you?"_

"No, " replied Margaret. 

"Then he told no one, " said Mr. Slocum, with the light fading outof his features again. "It was madness in him to conceal the fact. Heshould not have lost a moment, after the death of his cousin, inmaking that letter public. It ought instantly to have been placed inCoroner Whidden's hands. Richard's action is inconceivable, unless--unless"--

"Do not say it!" cried Margaret. "I should never forgive you!"

In recapitulating the points of Mr. Taggett's accusation, Mr. Slocum had treated most of them as trivial; but he had not beensincere. He knew that that broken chisel had no duplicate in

Stillwater, and that the finding of it in Richard's closet was ablack fact. Mr. Slocum had also glossed over the quarrel; but thatletter!--the likelihood that Richard kept the appointment, and hisabsolute silence concerning it, --here was a grim thing which nosophistry could dispose of. It would be wronging Margaret to deceiveher as to the vital seriousness of Richard's position. 

"Why, why did he hide it!" Mr. Slocum persisted. 

"I do not see that he really hid it, papa. He shut the note in abook lying openly on the table, --a dictionary, to which any one inthe household was likely to go. You think Mr. Taggett a person ofgreat acuteness. "

"He is a very intelligent person, Margaret. "

"He appears to me very short-sighted. If Richard were the dreadfulman Mr. Taggett supposes, that paper would have been burnt, and notleft for the first comer to pick up. I scorn myself for stooping tothe suggestion!"

"There is something in the idea, " said Mr. Slocum slowly. "But whydid Richard never mention the note, --to you, or to me, or toanybody?"

"He had a sufficient reason, you may be sure. Oh, papa, how readyyou are to believe evil of him!"

"I am not, God knows!"

"How you cling to this story of the letter! Suppose it turns outto be some old letter, written two or three years ago? You couldnever look Richard in the face again. "

"Unfortunately, Shackford dated it. It is useless for us toblindfold ourselves, Margaret. Richard has managed in some way to gethimself into a very perilous situation, and we cannot help him byshutting our eyes. You misconceive me if you imagine I think himcapable of coolly plotting his cousin's death; but it is not outsidethe limits of the possible that what has happened a thousand timesmay have happened once more. Men less impulsive than Richard"--

"I will not listen to it!" interrupted Margaret, drawing herselfup. "When Richard returns he will explain the matter to you, --not tome. If I required a word of denial from him, I should care verylittle whether he was innocent or not. "

Mr. Slocum threw a terrified glance at his daughter. Her loftyfaith sent a chill to his heart. What would be the result of a fallfrom such a height? He almost wished Margaret had something less ofthat ancestral confidence and obstinacy the lack of which in his owncomposition he had so often deplored. 

"We are not to speak of this to Richard, " he said, after aprotracted pause; "at least not until Mr. Taggett considers it best. I have pledged myself to something like that. "

"Has Richard been informed of Mr. Taggett's singular proceeding?"asked Margaret, freezingly. 

"Not yet; nothing is to be done until Mr. Taggett returns from NewYork, and then Richard will at once have an opportunity of clearinghimself. "

"It would have spared us all much pain and misunderstanding if hehad been sent for in the first instance. Did he know that this personwas here in the yard?"

"The plan was talked over before Richard left; the details werearranged afterwards. He heartily approved of the plan. "

A leisurely and not altogether saint-like smile crept into thecorners of Margaret's mouth. 

"Yes, he approved of the plan, " repeated Mr. Slocum. "Perhapshe"--Here Mr. Slocum checked himself, and left the sentence flying atloose ends. Perhaps Richard had looked with favor upon a method ofinquiry which was so likely to lead to no result. But Mr. Slocum didnot venture to finish the suggestion. He had never seen Margaret soimperious and intractable; it was impossible to reason or to talkfrankly with her. He remained silent, sitting with one arm throwndejectedly across the back of the chair. 

Presently his abject attitude and expression began to touchMargaret; there was something that appealed to her in the thin grayhair fallowing over his forehead. Her eyes softened as they restedupon him, and a pitying little tremor came to her under lip. 

"Papa, " she said, stooping to his side, with a sudden rosy bloomin her cheeks, "I have all the proof I want that Richard knew nothingof this dreadful business. "

"You have proof!" exclaimed Mr. Slocum, starting from his seat. 

"Yes. The morning Richard went to New York"--Margaret hesitated. 

"Well!"

"He put his arm around me and kissed me. "

"Well!"

"Well?" repeated Margaret. "Could Richard have done that, --couldhe have so much as laid his hand upon me--if--if"--

 Mr. Slocum sunk back in the chair with a kind of groan. 

"Papa, you do not know him!"

"Oh, Margaret, I am afraid that that is not the kind of evidenceto clear Richard in Mr. Taggett's eyes. "

"Then Richard's word must do it, " she said haughtily. "He will behome to-night. "

"Yes, he is to return to-night, " said Mr. Slocum, looking awayfrom her. 

XXII

During the rest of the day the name of Richard Shackford was notmentioned again by either Margaret or her father. It was a day ofsuspense to both, and long before night-fall Margaret's impatiencefor Richard to come had resolved itself into a pain as keen as thatwith which Mr. Slocum contemplated the coming; for every houraugmented his dread of the events that would necessarily follow thereappearance of young Shackford in Stillwater. 

On reaching his office, after the conversation with Margaret, Mr. Slocum found Lawyer Perkins waiting for him. Lawyer Perkins, who wasas yet in ignorance of the late developments, had brought informationof his own. The mutilated document which had so grimly clung to itssecret was at last deciphered. It proved to be a recently executedwill, in which the greater part of Lemuel Shackford's estate, realand personal, was left unconditionally to his cousin. 

"That disposes of one of Mr. Taggett's theories, " was Mr. Slocum'sunspoken reflection. Certainly Richard had not destroyed the will;the old man himself had destroyed it, probably in some fit of pique. Yet, after all, the vital question was in no way affected by thisfact; the motive for the crime remained, and the fearful evidenceagainst Richard still held. 

After the departure of Lawyer Perkins, who had been struck by thesingular perturbation of his old friend, Mr. Slocum drew forth Mt. Taggett's journal, and re-read it from beginning to end. Margaret'sunquestioning faith in Richard, her prompt and indignant rejection ofthe whole story, had shaken her father at moments that morning; butnow his paralyzing doubts returned. This second perusal of the diaryimpressed him even more strongly than the first. Richard had killedLemuel Shackford, --in self-defense, may be, or perhaps accidentally;but he had killed him! As Mr. Slocum passed from page to page, following the dark thread of narrative that darkened at each remove, he lapsed into that illogical frame of mind when one looks halfexpectantly for some providential interposition to avert the calamityagainst which human means are impotent. If Richard were to drop deadin the street! If he were to fall overboard off Point Judith in thenight! If only anything would happen to prevent his coming back! Thusthe ultimate disgrace might be spared them. But the ill thing is thesure thing; the letter with the black seal never miscarries, andRichard was bound to come! "There is no escape for him or for us, "murmured Mr. Slocum, closing his finger in the book. 

It was in a different mood that Margaret said to herself, "It isnearly four o'clock; he will be here at eight!" As she stood at theparlor window and watched the waning afternoon light making itsfarewells to the flower-beds in the little square front-gardens ofthe houses opposite, Margaret's heart was filled with the tendernessof the greeting she intended to give Richard. She had never been coldor shy in her demeanor with him, nor had she ever been quitedemonstrative; but now she meant to put her arms around his neck in awifely fashion, and recompense him so far as she could for all theinjustice he was to suffer. When he came to learn of the hatefulslander that had lifted its head during his absence, he shouldalready be in possession of the assurance of her faith. 

In the mean while the hands in Slocum's Yard were much exercisedover the unaccountable disappearance of Blake. Stevens reported thematter to Mr. Slocum. 

"Ah, yes, " said Mr. Slocum, who had not provided himself with anexplanation, and was puzzled to improvise one. "I dischargedhim, --that is to say, I let him go. I forgot to mention it. He didn'ttake to the trade. "

"But he showed a good fist for a beginner, " said Stevens. "He washead and shoulders the best of the new lot. Shall I put Stebbins inhis place?"

"You needn't do anything until Mr. Shackford gets back. "

"When will that be, sir?"

"To-night, probably. "

The unceremonious departure of Blake formed the theme of endlessspeculation at the tavern that evening, and for the moment obscuredthe general interest in old Shackford's murder. 

"Never to let on he was goin'!" said one. 

"Didn't say good-by to nobody, " remarked a second. 

"It was devilish uncivil, " added a third. 

"It is kind of mysterious, " said Mr. Peters. 

"Some girl, " suggested Mr. Willson, with an air of tendersentiment, which he attempted further to emphasize by a capriciouswink. 

"No, " observed Dexter. "When a man vanishes in that sudden way hisbody is generally found in a clump of blackberry bushes, monthsafterwards, or left somewhere on the flats by an ebb tide. "

"Two murders in Stillwater in one month would be rather crowdingit, wouldn't it?" inquired Piggott. 

"Bosh!" said Durgin. "There was always something shady aboutBlake. We didn't know where he hailed from, and we don't know wherehe's gone to. He'll take care of himself; that kind of fellow neverlets anybody play any points on him. " With this Durgin threw away thestump of his cigar, and lounged out at the street door. 

"I couldn't get anything out of the proprietor, " said Stevens;"but he never talks. May be Shackford when he"--Stevens stopped shortto listen to a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder, followedalmost instantly by two quick faint whistles. "He's aboard the trainto-night. "

Mr. Peters quietly rose from his seat and left the bar-room. 

The evening express, due at eight, was only a few seconds behindtime. As the screech of the approaching engine rung out from the darkwood-land, Margaret and her father exchanged rapid glances. It wouldtake Richard ten minutes to walk from the railway station to thehouse, --for of course he would come there directly after sending hisvalise to Lime Street. 

The ten minutes went by, and then twenty. Margaret bent steadilyover her work, listening with covert intentness for the click of thestreet gate. Likely enough Richard had been unable to find any one totake charge of his hand-baggage. Presently Mr. Slocum could notresist the impulse to look at his watch. It was half past eight. Henervously unfolded The Stillwater Gazette, and sat with his eyesfastened on the paper. 

After a seemingly interminable period the heavy bell of the SouthChurch sounded nine, and then tolled for a few minutes, as the dismalcustom is in New England country towns. 

A long silence followed, unrelieved by any word between father anddaughter, --a silence so profound that the heart of the old-fashionedtime-piece, throbbing monotonously in its dusky case at the foot ofthe stairs, made itself audible through the room. Mr. Slocum's gazecontinued fixed on the newspaper which he was not reading. Margaret'shands lay crossed over the work on her lap. 

Ten o'clock. 

"What can have kept him?" murmured Margaret. 

"There was only that way out of it, " reflected Mr. Slocum, pursuing his own line of thought. 

Margaret's cheeks were flushed and hot, and her eyes dulled withdisappointment, as she rose from the low rocking-chair and crossedover to kiss her father good-night. Mr. Slocum drew the girl gentlytowards him, and held her for a moment in silence. But Margaret, detecting the subtile commiseration in his manner, resented it, andreleased herself coldly. 

"He has been detained, papa. "

"Yes, something must have detained him!"

XXIII

When the down express arrived at Stillwater, that night, twopassengers stepped from the rear car to the platform: one was RichardShackford, and the other a commercial traveler, whose acquaintanceRichard had made the previous evening on the Fall River boat. 

There were no hacks in waiting at the station, and Richard foundhis politeness put to a severe test when he saw himself obliged topilot his companion part of the way to the hotel, which lay--itseemed almost maliciously--in a section of the town remote from theSlocums'. Curbing his impatience, Richard led the stranger throughseveral crooked, unlighted streets, and finally left him at thecorner of the main thoroughfare, within pistol-shot of the red glasslantern which hung over the door of the tavern. This cost Richard tengood minutes. As he hurriedly turned into a cross-street on the left, he fancied that he heard his name called several times from somewherein the darkness. A man came running towards him. It was Mr. Peters. 

"Can I say a word to you, Mr. Shackford?"

"If it isn't a long one. I am rather pressed. "

"It is about Torrini, sir. "

"What of him?"

"He's mighty bad, sir. "

"Oh, I can't stop to hear that, " and Richard quickened his pace. 

"The doctor took off his hand last Wednesday, " said Peters, keeping alongside, "and he's been getting worse and worse. "

Richard halted. "Took off his hand?"

"Didn't you know he was caught in the rolling-machine at Dana's?Well, it was after you went away. "

"This is the first I've heard of it. "

"It was hard lines for him, sir, with the woman and the twochildren, and nothing to eat in the house. The boys in the yard havedone what they could, but with the things from the drug-store, and soon, we couldn't hold up our end. Mr. Dana paid the doctor's bill, but if it hadn't been for Miss Slocum I don't know what would havehappened. I thought may be if I spoke to you, and told you how itwas"--

"Did Torrini send you?"

"Lord, no! He's too proud to send to anybody. He's been so proudsince they took off his hand that there has been no doing anythingwith him. If they was to take off his leg, he would turn into onemass of pride. No, Mr. Shackford, I came of myself. "

"Where does Torrini live, now?"

"In Mitchell's Alley. "

"I will go along with you, " said Richard, with a dogged air. Itseemed as if the fates were determined to keep him from seeingMargaret that night. Peters reached out a hand to take Richard'sleather bag. "No, thank you, I can carry it very well. " In a smallmorocco case in one of the pockets was a heavy plain gold ring forMargaret, and not for anything in the world would Richard haveallowed any one else to carry the bag. 

After a brisk five minutes' walk the two emerged upon a broadstreet crossing their path at right angles. All the shops were closedexcept Stubbs the provision dealer's and Dundon's drug-store. In thewindow of the apothecary a great purple jar, with a spray of gas jetsbehind it, was flaring on the darkness like a Bengal light. Richardstopped at the provision store and made some purchases; a littlefurther on he halted at a fruit stand, kept by an old crone, who hadsupplemented the feeble flicker of the corner street lamp with apitch-pine torch, which cast a yellow bloom over her apples andturned them all into oranges. She had real oranges, however, andRichard selected half a dozen, with a confused idea of providing thelittle Italians with some national fruit, though both children hadbeen born in Stillwater. 

Then the pair resumed their way, Peters acting as pioneer. Theysoon passed beyond the region of sidewalks and curbstones, and beganpicking their steps through a narrow, humid lane, where the water layin slimy pools, and the tenement houses on each side blotted out thefaint starlight. The night was sultry, and door and casement stoodwide, making pits of darkness. Few lights were visible, but acontinuous hum of voices issued from the human hives, and now andthen a transient red glow at an upper window showed that some one wassmoking a pipe. This was Mitchell's Alley. 

The shadows closed behind the two men as they moved forward, andneither was aware of the figure which had been discreetly followingthem for the last ten minutes. If Richard had suddenly wheeled andgone back a dozen paces, he would have come face to face with thecommercial traveler. 

Mr. Peeters paused in front of one of the tenement houses, andmotioned with his thumb over his shoulder for Richard to follow himthrough a yawning doorway. The hall was as dark as a cave, and fullof stale, moldy odors. Peters shuffled cautiously along the bareboards until he kicked his toe against the first step of thestaircase. 

"Keep close to the wall, Mr. Shackford, and feel your way up. They've used the banisters for kindling, and the landlord says heshan't put in any more. I went over here the other night, " added Mr. Peters reminiscentially. 

After fumbling several seconds for the latch, Mr. Peters pushedopen a door, and ushered Richard into a large, gloomy rear room. Akerosene lamp was burning dimly on the mantel-shelf, over which hunga coarsely-colored lithograph of the Virgin in a pine frame. Underthe picture stood a small black crucifix. There was littlefurniture, --a cooking-stove, two or three stools, a broken table, anda chest of drawers. On an iron bedstead in the corner lay Torrini, muffled to the chin in a blanket, despite the hot midsummer night. His right arm, as if it were wholly disconnected with his body, rested in a splint on the outside of the covering. As the visitorsentered, a tall dusky woman with blurred eyes rose from a low benchat the foot of the bed. 

"Is he awake?" asked Peters. 

The woman, comprehending the glance which accompanied the words, though not the words themselves, nodded yes. 

"Here is Mr. Shackford come to see you, Torrini, " Peters said. 

The man slowly unclosed his eyes; they were unnaturally brilliantand dilated, and seemed to absorb the rest of his features. 

"I didn't want him. "

"Let by-gones be by-gones, Torrini, " said Richard, approaching thebedside. "I am sorry about this. "

"You are very good; I don't understand. I ask nothing of Slocum;but the signorina comes every day, and I cannot help it. What wouldyou have? I'm a dead man, " and he turned away his face. 

"It is not so bad as that, " said Richard. 

Torrini looked up with a ghastly smile. "They have cut off thehand that struck you, Mr. Shackford. "

"I suppose it was necessary. I am very sorry. In a little whileyou will be on your feet again. "

"It is too late. They might have saved me by taking the arm, but Iwould not allow them. I may last three or four days. The doctor saysit. "

Peters, standing in the shadow, jerked his head affirmatively. 

"I do not care for myself, " the man continued, --"but she and thelittle ones--That is what madden s me. They will starve. "

"They will not be let starve in Stillwater, " said Richard. 

Torrini turned his eyes upon him wistfully and doubtfully. "Youwill help them?"

"Yes, I and others. "

"If they could be got to Italy, " said Torrini, after meditating, "it would be well. Her farther, " giving a side look at the woman, "isa fisherman of Capri. " At the word Capri the woman lifted her headquickly. "He is not rich, but he's not poor; he would take her. "

"You would wish her sent to Naples?"

"Yes. "

"If you do not pull through, she and the children shall go there. "

"Brigida!" called Torrini; then he said something rapidly inItalian to the woman, who buried her face in both hands, and did notreply. 

"She has no words to thank you. See, she is tired to death, withthe children all day and me all night, --these many nights. "

"Tell her to go to bed in the other room, " said Richard. "There'sanother room, isn't there? I'll sit with you. "

"You?"

"Your wife is fagged out, --that is plain. Send her to bed, anddon't talk any more. Peters, I wish you'd run and get a piece of icesomewhere; there's no drinking-water here. Come, now, Torrini, Ican't speak Italian. Oh, I don't mind your scowling; I intend tostay. "

Torrini slowly unknitted his brows, and an irresolute expressionstole across his face; then he called Brigida, and bade her go inwith the children. She bowed her head submissively, and fixing hermelting eyes on Richard for an instant passed into the adjoiningchamber. 

Peters shortly reappeared with the ice, and after setting a jug ofwater on the table departed. Richard turned up the wick of thekerosene lamp, which was sending forth a disagreeable odor, andpinned an old newspaper around the chimney to screen the flame. Hehad, by an odd chance, made his lampshade out of a copy of TheStillwater Gazette containing the announcement of his cousin's death. Richard gave a quick start as his eye caught the illuminatedhead-lines, --Mysterious Murder of Lemuel Shackford! Perhaps a slightexclamation escaped Richard's lips at the same time, for Torriniturned and asked what was the matter. "Nothing at all, " said Richard, removing the paper, and placing another in its stead. Then he threwopen the blinds of the window looking on the back yard, and set hishand-bag against the door to prevent it being blown to by thedraught. Torrini, without altering the rigid position of his head onthe pillow, followed every movement with a look of curiousinsistence, like that of the eyes in a portrait. His preparationscompleted for the night, Richard seated himself on a stool at thefoot of the bed. 

The obscurity and stillness of the room had their effect upon thesick man, who presently dropped into a light sleep. Richard satthinking of Margaret, and began to be troubled because he hadneglected to send her word of his detention, which he might have doneby Peters. It was now too l ate. The town clock struck ten in themidst of his self-reproaches. At the first clang of the bell, Torriniawoke with a start, and asked for water. 

"If anybody comes, " he said, glancing in a bewildered, anxious wayat the shadows huddled about the door, "you are not to leave me alonewith him. "

"Him? Whom? Are you expecting any one?"

"No; but who knows? one might come. Then, you are not to go; youare not to leave me for a second. "

"I've no thought of it, " replied Richard; "you may rest easy. . . . He's a trifle light in the head, " was Richard's reflection. 

After that Torrini dozed rather than slumbered, rousing at briefintervals; and whenever he awoke the feverish activity of his brainincited him to talk, --nowe of Italy, and now of matters connectedwith his experiences in this country. 

"Naples is a pleasant place!" he broke out in the hush of themidnight, just as Richard was dropping off. "The band plays everyafternoon on the Chiaia. And then the _festas, _--every third daya festa. The devil was in my body when I left there and draggedlittle Brigida into all this misery. We used to walk of an eveningalong the Marinella, --that's a strip of beach just beyond the MoloPiccolo. You were never in Naples?"

"Not I, " said Richard. "Here, wet your lips, and try to go tosleep again. "

"No, I can't sleep for thinking. When the Signorina came to seeme, the other day, her heart was pierced with pity. Like the blessedMadonna's, her bosom bleeds for all! You will let her cometo-morrow?"

"Yes, yes! If you will only keep quiet, Margaret shall come. "

"Margherita, we say. You are to we her, --is it nnot so?"

Richard turned down the wick of the lamp, which was blazing andspluttering, and did not answer. Then Torrini lay silent a longwhile, apparently listening to the hum of the telegraph wiresattached to one end of the roof. At odd intervals the fresheningbreeze swept these wires, and awoke a low ćolian murmur. The moonrose in the mean time, and painted on the uncarpeted floor the shapeof the cherry bough that stretched across the window. It was twoo'clock; Richard sat with his head bent forward, in a drowse. 

"Now the cousin is dead, you are as rich as a prince, --are younot?" inquired Torrini, who had lain for the last half hour with hiseyes wide open in the moonlight. 

Richard straightened himself with a jerk. 

"Torrini, I positively forbid you to talk any more!"

"I remember you said that one day, somewhere. Where was it? Ah, inthe yard! 'You can't be allowed to speak here, you know. ' And then Istruck at you, --with that hand they've taken away! See how I rememberit!"

"Why do you bother your mind with such things? Think of justnothing at all, and rest. Perhaps a wet cloth on your forehead willrefresh you. I wish you had a little of my genius for not keepingawake. "

"You are tired, you?"

"I have had two broken nights, traveling. "

"And I give you no peace?"

"Well, no, " returned Richard bluntly, hoping the admission wouldinduce Torrini to tranquilize himself, "you don't give me much. "

"Has any one been here?" demanded Torrini abruptly. 

"Not a soul. Good Heaven, man, do you know what time it is?"

"I know, --I know. It's very late. I ought to keep quiet; but, thedevil! with this fever in my brain! . . . . Mr. Shackford!" andTorrini, in spite of his imprisoned limb, suddenly half raisedhimself from the mattress. "I--I"--

Richard sprung to his feet. "What is it, --what do you want?"

"Nothing, " said Torrini, falling back on the pillow. 

Richard brought him a glass of water, which he refused. He laymotionless, with his eyes shut, as if composing himself, and Richardreturned on tiptoe to his bench. A moment or two afterwards Torrinistirred the blanket with his foot. 

"Mr. Shackford!"

"Well?"

"I am as grateful--as a dog. "

Torrini did not speak again. This expression of his gratitudeappeared to ease him. His respiration grew lighter and more regular, and by and by he fell into a profound sleep. Richard watched awhileexpectantly, with his head resting against the rail of the bedstead;then his eyelids drooped, and he too slumbered. But once or twice, before he quite lost himself, he was conscious of Brigida's thin facethrust like a silver wedge through the half-open door of the hallbedroom. It was the last thing he remembered, --that sharp, pale facepeering out from the blackness of the inner chamber as his grasploosened on the world and he drifted off on the tide of a dream. Anarrow white hand, like a child's, seemed to be laid against hisbreast. It was not Margaret's hand, and yet it was hers. No, it wasthe plaster model he had made that idle summer afternoon, years andyears before he had ever thought of loving her. Strange for it to bethere! Then Richard began wondering how the gold ring would look inthe slender forefinger. He unfastened the leather bag and took outthe ring. He was vainly trying to pass it over the first joint of thedead white finger, when the cast slipped from his hold and fell witha crash to the floor. Richard gave a shudder, and opened his eyes. Brigida was noiselessly approaching Torrini's bedside. Torrini stillslept. It was broad day. Through the uncurtained window Richard sawthe blue sky barred with crimson. 

XXIV

"Richard did come home last night, after all, " said Mr. Slocum, with a flustered air, seating himself at the breakfast table. 

Margaret looked up quickly. 

"I just met Peters on the street, and he told me, " added Mr. Slocum. 

"Richard returned last night, and did not come to us!"

"It seems that he watched with Torrini, --the man is going to die. "

"Oh, " said Margaret, cooling instantly. "That was like Richard; henever thinks of himself first. I would not have had him dodifferently. Last evening you were filled with I don't know whathorrible suspicions, yet see how simply everything explains itself. "

"If I could speak candidly, Margaret, if I could express myselfwithout putting you into a passion, I would tell you that Richard'spassing the night with that man has given me two or three uglyideas. "

"Positively, papa, you are worse than Mr. Taggett. "

"I shall not say another word, " replied Mr. Slocum. Then heunfolded the newspaper lying beside him, and constructed a barrieragainst further colloquy. 

An hour afterwards, when Richard threw open the door of hisprivate workshop, Margaret was standing in the middle of the roomwaiting for him. She turned with a little cry of pleasure, andallowed Richard to take her in his arms, and kept to the spirit andthe letter of the promise she had made to herself. If there was anunwonted gravity in Margaret's manner, young Shackford was not keenenough to perceive it. All that morning, wherever he went, he carriedwith him a sense of Margaret's face resting for a moment against hisshoulder, and the happiness of it rendered him wholly oblivious tothe constrained and chilly demeanor of her father when they met. Theinterview was purposely cut short by Mr. Slocum, who avoided Richardthe rest of the day with a persistency that must have ended inforcing itself upon his notice, had he not been so engrossed by thework which had accumulated during his absence. 

Mr. Slocum had let the correspondence go to the winds, and aformidable collection of unanswered letters lay on Shackford's desk. The forenoon was consumed in reducing the pile and settling thequestions that had risen in the shops, for Mr. Slocum had neglectedeverything. Richard was speedily advised of Blake's dismissal fromthe yard, but, not knowing what explanation had been offered, wasunable to satisfy Stevens' curiosity on the subject. "I must seeSlocum about that at once, " reflected Richard; but the opportunitydid not occur, and he was too much pressed to make a special businessof it. 

Mr. Slocum, meanwhile, was in a wretched state of suspense andapprehension. Justice Beemis's clerk had served some sort of legalpaper--presumably a subpoena--on Richard, who had coolly read it inthe yard under the gaze of all, and given no sign of discomposurebeyond a momentary lifting of the eyebrows. Then he had carelesslythrust the paper into one of his pockets and continued his directionsto the men. Clearly he had as yet no suspicion of the mine that wasready to be sprung under his feet. 

Shortly after this little incident, which Mr. Slocum had witnessedfrom the window of the counting-room, Richard spoke a word or two toStevens, and quitted the yard. Mr. Slocum dropped into the carvingdepartment. 

"Where is Mr. Shackford, Stevens?"

"He has gone to Mitchell's Alley, sir. Said he'd be away an hour. Am I to say he was wanted?"

"No, " replied Mr. Slocum, hastily; "any time will do. You needn'tmention that I inquired for him, " and Mr. Slocum returned to thecounting-room. 

Before the hour expired he again distinguished Richard's voice inthe workshops, and the cheery tone of it was a positive affront toMr. Slocum. Looking back to the week prior to the tragedy in Welch'sCourt, he recollected Richard's unaccountable dejection; he had hadthe air of a person meditating some momentous step, --the pallor, theset face, and the introspective eyes. Then came the murder, andRichard's complete prostration. Mr. Slocum in his own excitement hadnoted it superficially at the time, but now he recalled the youngman's inordinate sorrow, and it seemed rather like remorse. Was hispresent immobile serenity the natural expression of a man whose hearthad suddenly ossified, and was no longer capable of throbbing withits guilt? Richard Shackford was rapidly becoming an awful problem toMr. Slocum. 

Since the death of his cousin, Richard had not been so much likehis former self. He appeared to have taken up his cheerfulness at thepoint where he had dropped it three weeks before. If there were anyweight resting on his mind, he bore it lightly, with a kind ofcareless defiance. 

In his visit that forenoon to Mitchell's Alley he had arranged forMrs. Morganson, his cousin's old housekeeper, to watch with Torrinithe ensuing night. This left Richard at liberty to spend the eveningwith Margaret, and finish his correspondence. Directly after tea herepaired to the studio, and, lighting the German student-lamp, fellto work on the letters. Margaret came in shortly with a magazine, andseated herself near the round table at which he was writing. She haddreaded this evening; it could scarcely pass without some mention ofMr. Taggett, and she had resolved not to speak of him. If Richardquestioned her it would be very distressing. How could she tellRichard that Mr. Taggett accused him of the murder of his cousin, andthat her own father half believed the accusation? No, she could neveracknowledge that. 

For nearly an hour the silence of the room was interrupted only bythe scratching of Richard's pen and the rustling of the magazine asMargaret turned the leaf. Now and then he looked up and caught hereye, and smiled, and went on with his task. It was a veritable returnof the old times. Margaret became absorbed in the story she wasreading and forgot her uneasiness. Her left hand rested on the pileof answered letters, to which Richard added one at intervals, shemechanically lifting her palm and replacing it on the freshmanuscript. Presently Richard observed this movement and smiled insecret at the slim white hand unconsciously making a paper-weight ofitself. He regarded it covertly for a moment, and then his disastrousdream occurred to him. There should be no mistake this time. He drewthe small morocco case from his pocket, and leaning across the tableslipped the ring on Margaret's finger. 

Margaret gave a bewildered start, and then seeing what Richard haddone held out her hand to him with a gracious, impetuous littlegesture. 

"I mean to give it you this morning, " he said, pressing his lip tothe ring, "but the daylight did not seem fine enough for it. "

"I thought you had forgotten, " said Margaret, slowly turning theband on her finger. 

"The first thing I did in New York was to go to a jeweler's forthis ring, and since then I have guarded it day and night asdragonishly as if it had been the Koh-i-Noor diamond, or someinestimable gem which hundreds of envious persons were lying in waitto wrest from me. Walking the streets with this trinket in mypossession, I have actually had a sense of personal insecurity. Iseemed to invite general assault. That was being very sentimental, was it not?"

"Yes, perhaps. "

"That small piece of gold meant so much to me. "

"And to me, " said Margaret. "Have you finished your letters?"

"Not yet. I shall be through in ten minutes, and then we'll havethe evening to ourselves. "

Richard hurriedly resumed his writing and Margaret turned to hernovel again; but the interest had faded out of it; the figures hadgrown threadbare and indistinct, like the figures in a piece of oldtapestry, and after a moment or two the magazine glided with anunnoticed flutter into the girl's lap. She sat absently twirling thegold loop on her finger. 

Richard added the address to the final envelope, dried it with theblotter, and abruptly shut down the lid of the inkstand with an airof as great satisfaction as if he had been the fisherman in theArabian story corking up the wicked afrite. With his finger stillpressing the leaden cover, as though he were afraid the imp of toilwould get out again, he was suddenly impressed by the fact that hehad seen very little of Mr. Slocum that day. 

"I have hardly spoken to him, " he reflected. "Where is yourfather, to-night?"

"He has a headache, " said Margaret. "He went to his roomimmediately after supper. "

"It is nothing serious, of course. "

"I fancy not; papa is easily excited, and he had had a great dealto trouble him lately, --the strike, and all that. "

"I wonder if Mr. Taggett has been bothering him. "

"I dare say Mr. Taggett has bothered him. "

"You knew of his being in the yard?"

"Not while he was here. Papa told me yesterday. I think Mr. Taggett was scarcely the person to render much assistance. "

"Then he has found nothing whatever?"

"Nothing important. "

"But anything? Trifles are of importance in a matter like this. Your father never wrote me a word about Taggett. "

"Mr. Taggett has made a failure of it, Richard. "

"If nothing new has transpired, then I do not understand thesummons I received to-day. "

"A summons!"

"I've the paper somewhere. No, it is in the pocket of my othercoat. I take it there is to be a consultation of some kind at JusticeBeemis's office to-morrow. "

"I am very glad, " said Margaret, with her face brightening. To-morrow would lift the cloud which had spread itself over them all, and was pressing down so heavily on one unconscious head. To-morrowRichard's innocence should shine forth and confound Mr. Taggett. Avague bitterness rose in Margaret's heart as she thought of herfather. "Let us talk of something else, " she said, brusquely breakingher pause; "let us talk of something pleasant. "

"Of ourselves, then, " suggested Richard, banishing the shadowwhich had gathered in his eyes at his first mention of Mr. Taggett'sname. 

"Of ourselves, " repeated Margaret gayly. 

"Then you must give me your hand, " stipulated Richard, drawing hischair closer to hers. 

"There!" said Margaret. 

While this was passing, Mr. Slocum, in the solitude of hischamber, was vainly attempting to solve the question whether he hadnot disregarded all the dictates of duty and common sense in allowingMargaret to spend the evening alone with Richard Shackford. Mr. Slocum saw one thing with painful distinctness--that he could nothelp himself. 

XXV

The next morning Mr. Slocum did not make his appearance in themarble yard. His half-simulated indisposition of the previous nighthad turned into a genuine headache, of which he perhaps willinglyavailed himself to remain in his room, for he had no desire to seeRichard Shackford that day. 

It was an hour before noon. Up to that moment Richard had beenengaged in reading and replying to the letters received by themorning's mail, a duty which usually fell to Mr. Slocum. As Richardstepped from the office into the yard a small boy thrust a note intohis hand, and then stood off a short distance tranquilly boring withone toe in the loose gravel, and apparently waiting for an answer. Shackford hastily ran his eye over the paper, and turning towards theboy said, a little impatiently:

"Tell him I will come at once. "

There was another person in Stillwater that forenoon whoseagitation was scarcely less than Mr. Slocum's, though it greatlydiffered from it in quality. Mr. Slocum was alive to his finger-tipswith dismay; Lawyer Perkins was boiling over with indignation. It wasa complex indignation, in which astonishment and incredulity werenicely blended with a cordial detestation of Mr. Taggett and vaguepromptings to inflict some physical injury on Justice Beemis. Thathe, Melanchthon Perkins, the confidential legal adviser and personalfriend of the late Lemuel Shackford, should have been kept for twoweeks in profound ignorance of proceedings so nearly touching hislamented client! The explosion of the old lawyer's wrath was sounexpected that Justice Beemis, who had dropped in to make thedisclosures and talk the matter over informally, clutched at hisbroad-brimmed Panama hat and precipitately retreated from the office. Mr. Perkins walked up and down the worn green drugget of his privateroom for half an hour afterwards, collecting himself, and thendispatched a hurried note to Richard Shackford, requesting an instantinterview with him at his, Lawyer Perkins's, chambers. 

When, some ten minutes subsequently, Richard entered thelow-studded square room, darkened with faded moreen curtains andfilled with a stale odor of law-calf, Mr. Perkins was seated at hisdesk and engaged in transferring certain imposing red-sealeddocuments to a green baize satchel which he held between his knees. He had regained his equanimity; his features wore their usualexpression of judicial severity; nothing denoted his recentdiscomposure, except perhaps an additional wantonness in the stringyblack hair falling over the high forehead, --that pallid high foreheadwhich always wore the look of being covered with cold perspiration. 

"Mr. Shackford, " said Lawyer Perkins, suspending his operations asecond, as he saluted the young man, "I suppose I have done anirregular thing in sending for you, but I did not see any othercourse open to me. I have been your cousin's attorney for overtwenty-five years, and I've a great regard for you personally. Thatmust justify the step I am taking. "

"The regard is mutual, I am sure, " returned Richard, rathersurprised by this friendly overture, for his acquaintance with thelawyer had been of the slightest, though it had extended over manyyears. "My cousin had very few friends, and I earnestly desire tohave them mine. If I were in any trouble, there is no one to whom Iwould come as unhesitatingly as to you. "

"But you are in trouble. "

"Yes, my cousin's death was very distressing. "

"I do not mean that. " Mr. Perkins paused a full moment. "Thedistrict attorney has suddenly taken a deep interest in the case, andthere is to be a rigorous overhauling of the facts. I am afraid it isgoing to be very unpleasant for you, Mr. Shackford. "

"How could it be otherwise?" asked Richard, tranquilly. 

Lawyer Perkins fixed his black eyes on him. "Then you fullyunderstand the situation, and can explain everything?"

"I wish I could. Unfortunately, I can explain nothing. I don'tclearly see why I have been summoned to attend as a witness at theinvestigation to be held to-day in Justice Beemis's office. "

"You are unacquainted with any special reason why your testimonyis wanted?"

"I cannot conceive why it should be required. I gave my evidenceat the time of the inquest, and have nothing to add to it. Strictlyspeaking, I have had of late years no relations with my cousin. During the last eighteen months we have spoken together but once. "

"Have you had any conversation on this subject with Mr. Slocumsince your return from New York?"

"No, I have had no opportunity. I was busy all day yesterday; hewas ill in the evening, and is still confined to his room. "

Mr. Perkins was manifestly embarrassed. 

"That is unfortunate, " he said, laying the bag on the desk. "Iwish you had talked with Mr. Slocum. Of course you were taken intothe secret of Taggett's presence in the marble yard?"

"Oh, yes; that was all arranged before I left home. "

"You don't know the results of that manoeuvre?"

"There were no results. "

"On the contrary, Taggett claims to have made very importantdiscoveries. "

"Indeed! Why was I not told!"

"I can't quite comprehend Mr. Slocum's silence. "

"What has Taggett discovered?"

"Several things, upon which he builds the gravest suspicions. "

"Against whom?"

"Against you. "

"Against me!" cried Richard, recoiling. The action was onealtogether of natural amazement, and convinced Mr. Perkins, who hadkeenly watched the effect of his announcement, that young Shackfordwas being very hardly used. 

Justice Beemis had given Mr. Perkins only a brief outline of thefacts, and had barely touched on details when the old lawyer's angerhad put an end to the conversation. His disgust at having been leftout in the cold, though he was in no professional way concerned inthe task of discovering the murderer of Lemuel Shackford, had causedLawyer Perkins instantly to repudiate Mr. Taggett's action. "Taggettis a low, intriguing fellow, " he had said to Justice Beemis; "Taggettis a fraud. " Young Shackford's ingenuous manner now confirmed Mr. Perkins in that belief. 

Richard recovered himself in a second or two. "Why did not Mr. Slocum mention these suspicions to me?" he demanded. 

"Perhaps he found it difficult to do so. "

"Why should he find it difficult?"

"Suppose he believed them. "

"But he could not believe them, whatever they are. "

"Well, then, suppose he was not at liberty to speak. "

"It seems that you are, Mr. Perkins, and you owe it to me to beexplicit. What does Taggett suspect?"

Lawyer Perkins brooded a while before replying. His practice wasof a miscellaneous sort, confined in the main to what is technicallytermed office practice. Though he was frequently engaged in smallcases of assault and battery, --he could scarcely escape that inStillwater, --he had never conducted an important criminal case; butwhen Lawyer Perkins looked up from his brief reverie, he had fullyresolved to undertake the defense of Richard Shackford. 

"I will tell you what Taggett suspects, " he said slowly, "if youwill allow me to tell you in my own way. I must ask a number ofquestions. "

Richard gave a half-impatient nod of assent. 

"Where were you on the night of the murder?" inquired LawyerPerkins, after a slight pause. 

"I spent the evening at the Slocums', until ten o'clock; then Iwent home, --but not directly. It was moonlight, and I walked about, perhaps for an hour. "

"Did you meet any one?"

"Not that I recollect. I walked out of town, on the turnpike. "

"When you returned to your boarding-house, did you meet any one?"

"No, I let myself in with a pass-key. The family had retired, withthe exception of Mr. Pinkham. "

"Then you saw him?"

"No, but I heard him; he was playing on the flute at his chamberwindow, or near it. He always plays on the flute when he can'tsleep. "

"What o'clock was that?"

"It must have been after eleven. "

"Your stroll was confined to the end of the town most remote fromWelch's Court?"

"Yes, I just cruised around on the outskirts. "

"I wish you had spoken with somebody that night. "

"The streets were deserted. I wasn't likely to meet persons on theturnpike. "

"However, some one may have seen you without your knowing it?"

"Yes, " said Richard curtly. He was growing restive under theseinterrogations, the drift of which was plain enough to bedisagreeable. Moreover, Mr. Perkins had insensibly assumed the toneand air of a counsel cross-examining a witness on the other side. This nocturnal cruise, whose direction and duration were known onlyto young Shackford, struck Lawyer Perkins unpleasantly. He meditateda moment before putting the next question. 

"Were you on good terms--I mean fairly good terms--with yourcousin?"

"No, " said Richard; "but the fault was not mine. He never likedme. As a child I annoyed him, I suppose, and when I grew up Ioffended him by running away to sea. My mortal offense, however, wasaccepting a situation in Slocum's Yard. I have been in my cousin'shouse only twice in three years. "

"When was the last time?"

"A day or two previous to the strike. "

"As you were not in the habit of visiting the house, you must havehad some purpose in going there. What was the occasion?"

Richard hung his head thoughtfully. "I went there to talk overfamily matters, --to inform him of my intended marriage to MargaretSlocum. I wanted his good-will and support. Mr. Slocum had offered totake me into the business. I thought perhaps my cousin Lemuel, seeinghow prosperous I was, would be more friendly to me. "

"Did you wish him to lend you capital?"

"I didn't expect or wish him to; but there was some question ofthat. "

"And he refused?"

"Rather brutally, if I may say so now. "

"Was there a quarrel?"

Richard hesitated. 

"Of course I don't press you, " said Mr. Perkins, with somestiffness. "You are not on the witness stand. "

"I began to think I was--in the prisoner's dock, " answeredRichard, smiling ruefully. "However, I have nothing to conceal. Ihesitated to reply to you because it was painful for me to reflectthat the last time I saw my cousin we parted in anger. He charge mewith attempting to overreach him, and I left the house inindignation. "

"That was the last time you saw him?"

"The last time I saw him alive. "

"Was there any communication between you two after that?"

"No. "

"None whatever?"

"None. "

"Are you quite positive?"

"As positive as I can be that I live and have my senses. "

Lawyer Perkins pulled a black strand of hair over his forehead, and remained silent for nearly a minute. 

"Mr. Shackford, are you sure that your cousin did not write a noteto you on the Monday preceding the night of his death?"

"He may have written a dozen, for all I know. I only know that Inever received a note or a letter from him in the whole course of mylife. "

"Then how do you account for the letter which has been found inyour rooms in Lime Street, --a letter addressed to you by LemuelShackford, and requesting you to call at his house on that fatalTuesday night?"

"I--I know nothing about it, " stammered Richard. "There is no suchpaper!"

"It was in this office less than one hour ago, " said LawyerPerkins sternly. "It was brought here for me to identify LemuelShackford's handwriting. Justice Beemis has that paper!"

"Justice Beemis has it!" exclaimed Richard. 

"I have nothing more to say, " observed Lawyer Perkins, reachingout his hand towards the green bag, as a sign that the interview wasended. "There were other points I wished to have some light thrownon; but I have gone far enough to see that it is useless. "

"What more is there?" demanded Richard in a voice that seemed tocome through a fog. "I insist on knowing! You suspect me of mycousin's murder?"

"Mr. Taggett does. "

"And you?"

"I am speaking of Mr. Taggett. "

"Well, go on, speak of him, " said Richard desperately. "What elsehas he discovered?"

Mr. Perkins wheeled his chair round until he faced the young man. 

"He has discovered in your workshop a chisel with a peculiar breakin the edge, --a deep notch in the middle of the bevel. With thatchisel Lemuel Shackford was killed. "

Richard gave a perceptible start, and put his hand to his head, asif a sudden confused memory had set the temples throbbing. 

"A full box of safety matches, " continued Mr. Perkins, in a cold, measured voice, as though he were demonstrating a mathematicalproblem, "contains one hundred matches. Mr. Taggett has discovered abox that contains only ninety-nine. The missing match was used thatnight in Welch's Court. "

Richard stared at him blankly. "What can I say?" he gasped. 

"Say nothing to me, " returned Lawyer Perkins, hastily thrusting ahandful of loose papers into the open throat of the green bag, whichhe garroted an instant afterwards with a thick black cord. Then herose flurriedly from the chair. "I shall have to leave you, " he said;"I've an appointment at the surrogate's. "

And Lawyer Perkins passed stiffly from the apartment. 

Richard lingered a moment alone in the room with his chin restingon his breast. 

XXVI

There was a fire in Richard's temples as he reeled out of LawyerPerkins's office. It was now twelve o'clock, and the streets werethronged with the motley population disgorged by the various millsand workshops. Richard felt that every eye was upon him; he wasconscious of something wild in his aspect that must needs attract theattention of the passers-by. At each step he half expected theleveling of some accusing finger. The pitiless sunshine seemed tosingle him out and stream upon him like a calcium light. It wasintolerable. He must get away from this jostling crowd, this babel ofvoices. What should he do, where should he go? To return to the yardand face the workmen was not to be thought of; if he went to hislodgings he would be called to dinner, and have to listen to theinane prattle of the school-master. That would be even moreintolerable than this garish daylight, and these careless squads ofmen and women who paused in the midst of their laugh to turn andstare. Was there no spot in Stillwater where a broken man could hidehimself long enough to collect his senses?

With his hands thrust convulsively into the pockets of hissack-coat, Richard turned down a narrow passage-way fringing the rearof some warehouses. As he hurried along aimlessly his fingersencountered something in one of his pockets. It was the key of a newlock which had been put on the scullery door of the house in Welch'sCourt. Richard's heart gave a quick throb. There at least was atemporary refuge; he would go there and wait until it was time forhim to surrender himself to the officers. 

It appeared to Richard that he was nearly a year reaching thelittle back yard of the lonely house. He slipped into the sculleryand locked the door, wondering if his movements had been observedsince he quitted the main street. Here he drew a long breath andlooked around him; then he began wandering restlessly through therooms, of which there were five or six on the ground-floor. Thefurniture, the carpets, and all the sordid fixtures of the house werejust as Richard had known them in his childhood. Everything wasunchanged, even to the faded peacock-feather stuck over the parlorlooking-glass. As he regarded the familiar objects and breathed thesnuffy atmosphere peculiar to the place, the past rose so vividlybefore him that he would scarcely have been startled if a lean, grayold man had suddenly appeared in one of the doorways. On a peg in thefront hall hung his cousin's napless beaver hat, satirically ready tobe put on; in the kitchen closet a pair of ancient shoes, worn downat the heel and with taps on the toe, had all the air of intending tostep forth. The shoes had been carefully blacked, but a thin skin ofmould had gathered over them. They looked like Lemuel Shackford. Theyhad taken a position habitual with him. Richard was struck by thesubtile irony which lay in these inanimate things. That a man's hatshould outlast the man, and have a jaunty expression of triumph! Thata dead man's shoes should mimic him!

The tall eight-day clock on the landing had run down. It hadstopped at twelve, and it now stood with solemnly uplifted finger, asif imposing silence on those small, unconsidered noises whichcommonly creep out, like mice, only at midnight. The house was fullof such stealthy sounds. The stairs creaked at intervals, mysteriously, as if under the weight of some heavy person ascending. Now and then the woodwork stretched itself with a snap, as though ithad grown stiff in the joints with remaining so long in one position. At times there were muffled reverberations of footfalls on theflooring overhead. Richard had a curious consciousness of not beingalone, but of moving in the midst of an invisible throng of personswho elbowed him softly and breathed in his face, and vaguelyimpressed themselves upon him as being former occupants of thepremises. This populous solitude, this silence with its busyinterruptions, grew insupportable as he passed from room to room. 

One chamber he did not enter, --the chamber in which his cousin'sbody was found that Wednesday morning. In Richard's imagination itwas still lying there, white and piteous, by the hearth. He paused atthe threshold and glanced in; then turned abruptly and mounted thestaircase. 

On gaining his old apartment in the gable, Richard seated himselfon the edge of the cot-bed. His shoulders sagged down and a stupefiedexpression settled upon his face, but his brain was in a tumult. Hisown identity was become a matter of doubt to him. Was he the sameRichard Shackford who had found life so sweet when he awoke thatmorning? IT must have been some other person who had sat by a windowin the sunrise thinking of Margaret Slocum's love, --some RichardShackford with unstained hands! This one was accused of murdering hiskinsman; the weapon with which he had done it, the very match he hadused to light him in the deed, were known! The victim himself hadwritten out the accusation in black and white. Richard's brain reeledas he tried to fix his thought on Lemuel Shackford's letter. Thatletter!--where had it been all this while, and how did it come intoTaggett's possession? Only one thing was clear to Richard in hisinextricable confusion, --he was not going to be able to prove hisinnocence; he was a doomed man, and within the hour his shame wouldbe published to the world. Rowland Slocum and Lawyer Perkins hadalready condemned him, and Margaret would condemn him when she knewall; for it was evident that up to last evening she had not beentold. How did it happen that these overwhelming proofs had rolledthemselves up against him? What malign influences were these at work, hurrying him on to destruction, and not leaving a single loophole ofescape? Who would believe the story of his innocent ramble on theturnpike that Tuesday night? Who could doubt that he had gonedirectly from the Slocums' to Welch's Court, and then crept homered-handed through the deserted streets?

Richard heard the steam-whistles recalling the operatives to work, and dimly understood it was one o'clock; but after that he paid noattention to the lapse of time. It was an hour later, perhaps twohours, --Richard could not tell, --when he roused himself from hisstupor, and descending the stairs passed through the kitchen into thescullery. There he halted and leaned against the sink, irresolute, asthough his purpose, if he had had a purpose, were escaping him. Hestood with his eyes resting listlessly on a barrel in the furthercorner of the apartment. It was a heavy-hooped wine-cask, in whichLemuel Shackford had been wont to keep his winter's supply of saltedmeat. Suddenly Richard started forward with an inarticulate cry, andat the same instant there came a loud knocking at the door behindhim. The sound reverberated through the empty house, filling theplace with awful echoes, --like those knocks at the gate of Macbeth'scastle the night of Duncan's murder. Richard stood petrified for asecond; then he hastily turned the key in the lock, and Mr. Taggettstepped into the scullery. 

The two men exchanged swift glances. The bewildered air of amoment before had passed from Richard; the dullness had faded out ofhis eyes, leaving them the clear, alert expression they ordinarilywore. He was self-possessed, but the effort his self-possession costhim was obvious. There was a something in his face--a dilation of thenostril, a curve of the under lip--which put Mr. Taggett very much onhis guard. Mr. Taggett was the first to speak. 

"I've a disagreeable mission here, " he said slowly, with his handremaining on the latch of the door, which he had closed on entering. "I have a warrant for your arrest, Mr. Shackford. "

"Stop a moment!" said Richard, with a glow in his eyes. "I havesomething to say. "

"I advise you not to make any statement. "

"I understand my position perfectly, Mr. Taggett, and I shalldisregard the advice. After you have answered me one or twoquestions, I shall be quite at your service. "

"If you insist, then. "

"You were present at the examination of Thomas Blufton and WilliamDurgin, were you not?"

"I was. "

"You recollect William Durgin's testimony?"

"Most distinctly. "

"He stated that the stains on his clothes were from a certainbarrel, the head of which had been freshly painted red. "

"I remember. "

"Mr. Taggett, _the head of that barrel was painted blue!"_

XXVII

Mr. Taggett, in spite of the excellent subjection under which heheld his nerves, caught his breath at these words, and a transientpallor overspread his face as he followed the pointing of Richard'sfinger. If William Durgin had testified falsely on that point, if hehad swerved a hair's-breadth from the truth in that matter, thenthere was but one conclusion to be drawn from his perjury. A flash oflightning is not swifter than was Mr. Taggett's thought in graspingthe situation. In an instant he saw all his carefully articulatedcase fall to pieces in his hands. Richard crossed the narrow room, and stood in front of him. 

"Mr. Taggett, do you know why William Durgin lied? He lied becauseit was life or death with him! In a moment of confusion he hadcommitted one of those simple, fatal blunders which men in hiscircumstances always commit. He had obliterated the spots on hisclothes with red paint, when he ought to have used blue!"

"That is a very grave supposition. "

"It is not a supposition, " cried Richard. "The daylight is not aplainer fact. "

"You are assuming too much, Mr. Shackford. "

"I am assuming nothing. Durgin has convicted himself; he hasfallen into a trap of his own devising. I charge him with the murderof Lemuel Shackford; I charge him with taking the chisel and thematches from my workshop, to which he had free access; and I chargehim with replacing those articles in order to divert suspicion uponme. My unfortunate relations with my cousin gave color to thissuspicion. The plan was an adroit plan, and has succeeded, it seems. "

Mr. Taggett did not reply at once, and then very coldly: "You willpardon me for suggesting it, but it will be necessary to ascertain ifthis is the cask which Durgin hoped, and also if the head has notbeen repainted since. "

"I understand what your doubt implies. It is your duty to assureyourself of these facts, and nothing can be easier. The person whopacked the meat--it was probably a provision dealer namedStubbs--will of course be able to recognize his own work. The otherquestion you can settle with a scratch of your penknife. You see. There has been only one thin coat of paint laid on, --the grain of thewood is nearly distinguishable through it. The head is evidently new;but the cask itself is an old one. It has stood here these tenyears. "

Mr. Taggett bent a penetrating look on Richard. "Why did yourefuse to answer the subpoena, Mr. Shackford?"

"But I haven't refused. I was on my way to Justice Beemis's officewhen you knocked. Perhaps I am a trifle late, " added Richard, catching Mr. Taggett's distrustful glance. 

"The summons said two o'clock, " remarked Mr. Taggett, pressing thespring of his watch. "It is now after three. "

"After three!"

"How could you neglect it, --with evidence of such presumableimportance in your hands?"

"It was only a moment ago that I discovered this. I had come herefrom Mr. Perkins's office. Mr. Perkins had informed me of thehorrible charge which was to be laid at my door. The intelligencefell upon me like a thunder-clap. I think it unsettled my reason fora while. I was unable to put two ideas together. At first he didn'tbelieve I had killed my cousin, and presently he seemed to believeit. When I got out in the street the sidewalk lurched under my feetlike the deck of a ship; everything swam before me. I don't know howI managed to reach this house, and I don't know how long I had beensitting in a room up-stairs when the recollection of the subpoenaoccurred to me. I was standing here dazed with despair; I saw that Iwas somehow caught in the toils, and that it was going to beimpossible to prove my innocence. If another man had been in myposition, I should have believed him guilty. I stood looking at thecask in the corner there, scarcely conscious of it; then I noticedthe blue paint on the head, and then William Durgin's testimonyflashed across my mind. Where is he?" cried Richard, turning swiftly. "That man should be arrested!"

"I am afraid he is gone, " said Mr. Taggett, biting his lip. 

"Do you mean he has fled?"

"If you are correct--he has fled. He failed to answer the summonsto-day, and the constable sent to look him up has been unable to findhim. Durgin was in the bar-room of the tavern at eight o'clock lastnight; he has not been seen since. "

"He was not in the yard this morning. You have let him slipthrough your fingers. "

"So it appears, for the moment. "

"You still doubt me, Mr. Taggett?"

"I don't let persons slip through my fingers. "

Richard curbed an impatient rejoinder, and said quietly, "WilliamDurgin had an accomplice. "

Mr. Taggett flushed, as if Richard had read his secret thought. Durgin's flight, if he really had fled, had suggested a freshpossibility to Mr. Taggett. What if Durgin were merely the pliantinstrument of the cleverer man who was now using him as a shield?This reflection was precisely in Mr. Taggett's line. In abscondingDurgin had not only secured his own personal safety, but hadexonerated his accomplice. It was a desperate step to take, but itwas a skillful one. 

"He had an accomplice?" repeated Mr. Taggett, after a moment. "Whowas it?"

"Torrini!"

"The man who was hurt the other day?"

"Yes. "

"You have grounds for your assertion?"

"He and Durgin were intimate, and have been much together lately. I sat up with Torrini the night before last; he acted and talked verystrangely; the man was out of his head part of the time, but now, asI think it over, I am convinced that he had this matter on his mind, and was hinting at it. I believe he would have made disclosures if Ihad urged him a little. He was evidently in great dread of a visitfrom some person, and that person was Durgin. Torrini ought to bequestioned without delay; he is very low, and may die at any moment. He is lying in a house at the further end of the town. If it is notimperative that I should report myself to Justice Beemis, we hadbetter go there at once. "

Mr. Taggett, who had been standing with his head half bowed, lifted it quickly as he asked the question, "Why did you withholdLemuel Shackford's letter?"

"It was never in my possession, Mr. Taggett, " said Richard, starting. "That paper is something I cannot explain at present. I canhardly believe in its existence, though Mr. Perkins declares that hehas had it in his hands, and it would be impossible for him to make amistake in my cousin's writing. "

"The letter was found in your lodgings. "

"So I was told. I don't understand it. "

"That explanation will not satisfy the prosecuting attorney. "

"I have only one theory about it, " said Richard slowly. 

"What is that?"

"I prefer not to state it now. I wish to stop at my boarding-houseon the way to Torrini's; it will not be out of our course. "

Mr. Taggett gave silent acquiescence to this. Richard opened thescullery door, and the two passed into the court. Neither spoke untilthey reached Lime Street. Mrs. Spooner herself answered Richard'sring, for he had purposely dispensed with the use of his pass-key. 

"I wanted to see you a moment, Mrs. Spooner, " said Richard, makingno motion to enter the hall. "Thanks, we will not come in. I merelydesire to ask you a question. Were you at home all day on that Mondayimmediately preceding my cousin's death?"

"No, " replied Mrs. Spooner wonderingly, with her hand still restingon the knob. "I wasn't at home at all. I spent the day and part of thenight with my daughter Maria Ann at South Millville. It was a boy, "added Mrs. Spooner, quite irrelevantly, smoothing her ample apron withthe disengaged hand. 

"Then Janet was at home, " said Richard. "Call Janet. "

A trim, intelligent-looking Nova Scotia girl was summoned from thebasement kitchen. 

"Janet, " said Richard, "do you remember the day, about three weeksago, that Mrs. Spooner was absent at South Millville?"

"Yes, " replied the girl, without hesitation. "It was the daybefore"--and then she stopped. 

"Exactly; it was the day before my cousin was killed. Now I wantyou to recollect whether any letter or note or written message of anydescription was left for me at this house on that day. "

Janet reflected. "I think there was, Mr. Richard, --a bit of paperlike. "

Mr. Taggett riveted his eyes on the girl. 

"Who brought the paper?" demanded Richard. 

"It was one of the Murphy boys, I think. "

"Did you hand it to me?"

"No, Mr. Richard, you had gone out. It was just after breakfast. "

"You gave it to me when I came home to dinner, then?"

"No, " returned Janet, becoming confused with a dim perception thatsomething had gone wrong and she was committing herself. 

"I remember, I didn't come home. I dined at the Slocums'. What didyou do with that paper?"

"I put it on the table in your room up-stairs. "

Mr. Taggett's eyes gleamed a little at this. 

"And that is all you can say about it?" inquired Richard, with afallen countenance. 

Janet reflected. She reflected a long while this time. "No, Mr. Shackford: an hour or so afterwards, when I went up to do thechamber-work, I saw that the wind had blow the paper off of thetable. I picked up the note and put it back; but the wind blew it offagain. "

"What then?"

"Then I shut up the note in one of the big books, meaning to tellyou of it, and--and I forgot it! Oh, Mr. Richard, have I donesomething dreadful?"

"Dreadful!" cried Richard. "Janet, I could hug you!"

"Oh, Mr. Richard, " said Janet with a little coquettish movementnatural to every feminine thing, bird, flower, or human being, "you've always such a pleasant way with you. "

Then there was a moment of dead silence. Mr. Spooner saw that thematter, whatever it was, was settled. 

"You needn't wait, Janet!" she said, with a severe, mystified air. 

"We are greatly obliged to you, Mr. Spooner, not to mentionJanet, " said Richard; "and if Mr. Taggett has no questions to ask wewill not detain you. "

Mrs. Spooner turned her small amiable orbs on Richard's companion. That silent little man Mr. Taggett! "He doesn't look like much, " wasthe landlady's unuttered reflection; and indeed he did not present aspirited appearance. Nevertheless Mrs. Spooner followed him down thestreet with her curious gaze until he and Richard passed out ofsight. 

Neither Richard nor Mr. Taggett was disposed to converse as theywended their way to Mitchell's Alley. Richard's ire was slowlykindling at the shameful light in which he had been placed by Mr. Taggett, and Mr. Taggett was striving with only partial success toreconcile himself to the idea of young Shackford's innocence. YoungShackford's innocence was a very awkward thing for Mr. Taggett, forhe had irretrievably committed himself at head-quarters. WithRichard's latent ire was mingled a feeling of profound gratitude. 

"The Lord was on my side, " he said presently. 

"He was on your side, as you remark; and when the Lord is on aman's side a detective necessarily comes out second best. "

"Really, Mr. Taggett, " said Richard, smiling, "that is a handsomeadmission on your part. "

"I mean, sir, " replied the latter, slightly nettled, "that itsometimes seems as if the Lord himself took charge of a case. "

"Certainly you are entitled to the credit of going to the bottomof this one. "

"I have skillfully and laboriously damaged my reputation, Mr. Shackford. "

Mr. Taggett said this with so heavy an air that Richard felt astir of sympathy in his bosom. 

"I am very sorry, " he said good-naturedly. 

"No, I beg of you!" exclaimed Mr. Taggett. "Any expression offriendliness from you would finish me! For nearly ten days I havelooked upon you as a most cruel and consummate villain. "

"I know, " said Richard. "I must be quite a disappointment to you, in a small way. "

Mr. Taggett laughed in spite of himself. "I hope I don't take amorbid view of it, " he said. A few steps further on he relaxed hisgait. "We have taken the Hennessey girl into custody. Do you imagineshe was concerned?"

"Have you questioned her?"

"Yes; she denies everything, except that she told Durgin you hadquarreled with the old gentleman. "

"I think Mary Hennessey an honest girl. She's little more than achild. I doubt if she knew anything whatever. Durgin was much tooshrewd to trust her, I fancy. "

As the speakers struck into the principal street, through thelower and busier end of which they were obliged to pass, Mr. Taggettcaused a sensation. The drivers of carts and the pedestrians on bothsidewalks stopped and looked at him. The part he had played inSlocum's Yard was now an open secret, and had produced an excitementthat was not confined to the clientčle of Snelling's bar-room. It wasknown that William Durgin had disappeared, and tdhat the constableswere searching for him. The air was thick with flying projectures, but none of them precisely hit the mark. One rumor there was whichseemed almost like a piece of poetical justice, --a whisper to theeffect that Rowland Slocum was suspected of being in some way mixedup with the murder. The fact that Lawyer Perkins, with his green bagstreaming in the wind, so to speak, had been seen darting into Mr. Slocum's private residence at two o'clock that afternoon wassufficient to give birth to the horrible legend. 

"Mitchell's Alley, " said Mr. Taggett, thrusting his arm throughRichard's, and hurrying on the escape the Stillwater gaze. "You wentthere directly from the station the night you got home. "

"How did you know that?"

"I was told by a fellow-traveler of yours, --and a friend of mine. "

"By Jove! Did it ever strike you, Mr. Taggett, that there is sucha thing as being too clever?"

"It has occurred to me recently. "

"Here is the house. "

Two sallow-skinned children, with wide, wistful black eyes, whowere sitting on the stone step, shyly crowded themselves togetheragainst the door-jamb to make passage-way for Richard and Mr. Taggett. Then the two pairs of eyes veered round inquiringly, andfollowed the strangers up the broken staircase and saw one of themknock at the door which faced the building. 

Richard's hasty tap bringing no response, he lifted the latchwithout further ceremony and stepped into the chamber, Mr. Taggett apace or two behind him. The figure of Father O'Meara slowly risingfrom a kneeling posture at the bedside was the first object that mettheir eyes; the second was Torrini's placid face, turned a little onthe pillow; the third was Brigida sitting at the foot of the bed, motionless, with her arms wrapped in her apron. 

"He is dead, " said the priest softly, advancing a step towardsRichard. "You are too late. He wanted to see you, Mr. Shackford, butyou were not to be found. "

Richard sent a swift glance over the priest's shoulder. "He wantedto tell me what part he had played in my cousin's murder?" saidRichard. 

"God forbid! the wretched man had many a sin on his soul, but notthat. "

"Not that!"

"No; he had no hand in it, --no more than you or I. His fault wasthat he concealed his knowledge of the deed after it was done. He didnot even suspect who committed the crime until two days' afterwards, when William Durgin"--

Richard's eyes lighted up as they encountered Mr. Taggett's. Thepriest mistook the significance of the glances. 

"No, " said Father O'Meara, indicating Brigida with a quick motionof his head, "the poor soul does not understand a word. But even ifshe did, I should have to speak of these matters here and now, whilethey are fresh in my mind. I am obeying the solemn injunctions of thedead. Two days after the murder William Durgin came to Torrini andconfessed the deed, offering to share with him a large sum in goldand notes if he would hide the money temporarily. Torrini agreed todo so. Later Durgin confided to him his plan of turning suspicionupon you, Mr. Shackford; indeed, of directly charging you with themurder, if the worst came to the worst. Torrini agreed to that also, because of some real or fancied injury at your hands. It seems thatthe implement which Durgin had employed in forcing the scullerydoor--the implement which he afterwards used so mercilessly--had beenstolen from your workshop. The next morning Durgin put the tool backin its place, not knowing what other disposition to make of it, andit was then that the idea of shouldering the crime upon you enteredhis wicked heart. According to Torrini, Durgin did not intend to harmthe old gentleman, but simply to rob him. The unfortunate man wasawakened by the noise Durgin made in breaking open the safe, andrushed in to his doom. Having then no fear of interruption, Durginleisurely ransacked the house. How he came across the will, anddestroyed it with the idea that he was putting the estate out of yourpossession--this and other details I shall give you by and by. "

Father O'Meara paused a moment. "After the accident at the milland the conviction that he was not to recover, Torrini's consciencebegan to prick him. When he reflected on Miss Slocum's kindness tohis family during the strike, when he now saw her saving his wife andchildren from absolute starvation, he was nearly ready to break theoath with which he had bound himself to William Durgin. Curiouslyenough, this man, so reckless in many things, held his pledged wordsacred. Meanwhile his wavering condition became apparent to Durgin, who grew alarmed, and demanded the stolen property. Torrini refusedto give it up; even his own bitter necessities had not tempted him totouch a penny of it. For the last three days he was in deadly terrorlest Durgin should wrest the money from him by force. The poor woman, here, knows nothing of all this. It was her presence, however, whichprobably prevented Durgin from proceeding to extremities withTorrini, who took care never to be left alone. "

"I recollect, " said Richard, "the night I watched with him he wasconstantly expecting some one. I supposed him to be wandering in hismind. "

"He was expecting Durgin, though Torrini had every reason forbelieving that he had fled. "

Mr. Taggett leaned forward, and asked, "When did he go, --andwhere?"

"He was too cunning to confide his plans to Torrini. Three nightsago Durgin came here and begged for a portion of the bank-note;previously he had reclaimed the whole sum; he said the place wasgrowing too warm for him, and that he had made up his mind to leave. But Torrini held on to the money, having resolved that it should berestored intact to you. He promised Durgin, however, to keep hisflight secret for three or four days, at the end of which timeTorrini meant to reveal all to me at confession. The night you satwith him, Mr. Shackford, he was near breaking his promise; yourkindness was coals of fire on his head. His agony, lest he should dieor lose his senses before he could make known the full depth ofDurgin's villainy, must have been something terrible. This is thesubstance of what the poor creature begged me to say to you with hisdying regrets. The money is hidden somewhere under the mattress, Ibelieve. A better man than Torrini would have spent some of it, "added Father O'Meara, waving a sort of benediction in the directionof the bed. 

Richard did not speak for a moment or two. The wretchedness andgrimness of it all smote him to the heart. When he looked up Mr. Taggett was gone, and the priest was gently drawing the coverlet overTorrini's face. 

Richard approached Father O'Meara and said: "When the money isfound, please take charge of it, and see that every decentarrangement is made. I mean, spare nothing. I am a Protestant, but Ibelieve in any man's prayers when they are not addressed to a heathenimage. I promised Torrini to send his wife and children to Italy. This pitiful, miserable gold, which cost so dear and is worth solittle, shall be made to do that much good, at least. "

As Richard was speaking, a light footfall sounded on the staircaseoutside; then the door, which stood ajar, was softly pushed open, andMargaret paused on the threshold. At the rustle of her dress Richardturned, and hastened towards her. 

"It is all over, " he said softly, laying his finger on his lip. Father O'Meara was again kneeling by the bedside. 

"Let us go now, " whispered Richard to Margaret. It seemed fit thatthey should leave the living and the dead to the murmured prayers andsolemn ministration of the kindly priest. Such later services asMargaret could render to the bereaved woman were not to be wanting. 

At the foot of the stairs Richard Shackford halted abruptly, and, oblivious of the two children who were softly chattering together inthe doorway, caught Margaret's hand in his. 

"Margaret, Torrini has made a confession that sets at rest allquestion of my cousin's death. "

"Do you mean that he"--Margaret faltered, and left the sentenceunfinished. 

"No; it was William Durgin, God forgive him!"

"William Durgin!" The young girl's fingers closed nervously onRichard's as she echoed the name, and she began trembling. "That--that is stranger yet!"

"I will tell you everything when we get home; this is no time orplace; but one thing I must ask you now and here. When you sat withme last night were you aware that Mr. Taggett firmly believed it wasI who had killed Lemuel Shackford?"

"Yes, " said Margaret. 

"That is all I care to know!" cried Richard; "that consoles me!"and the two pairs of great inquisitive eyes looking up from the stonestep saw the signorina standing quite mute and colorless with thestrange gentleman's arms around her. And the signorina was smiling!

XXVIII

One June Morning, precisely a year from that morning when thereader first saw the daylight breaking upon Stillwater, severalworkmen with ladders and hammers were putting up a freshly paintedsign over the gate of the marble yard. Mr. Slocum and Richard stoodon the opposite curbstone, to which they had retired in order to takein the general effect. The new sign read, --Slocum & Shackford. Richard protested against the displacement of its weather-stainedpredecessor; it seemed to him an act little short of vandalism; butMr. Slocum was obstinate, and would have it done. He was secretlyatoning for a deep injustice, into which Richard had been at once toosensitive and too wise closely to inquire. If Mr. Slocum had harboreda temporary doubt of him Richard did not care to know it; it wasquite enough to suspect the fact. His sufficient recompense was thatMargaret had not doubted. They had now been married six months. Theshadow of the tragedy in Welch's Court had long ceased to oppressthem; it had vanished with the hasty departure of Mr. Taggett. Neither he nor William Durgin was ever seen again in the flesh inStillwater; but they both still led, and will probably continue foryears to lead, a sort of phantasmal, legendary life in Snelling'sbar-room. Durgin in his flight had left no traces. From time to time, as the months rolled on, a misty rumor was blown to the town of hishaving been seen in some remote foreign city, --now in one place, andnow in another, always on the point of departing, self-pursued likethe Wandering Jew; but nothing authentic. His after-fate was to be asealed book in Stillwater. 

"I really wish you had let the old sign stand, " said Richard, asthe carpenters removed the ladders. "The yard can never be anythingbut Slocum's Yard. "

"It looks remarkably well up thee, " replied Mr. Slocum, shadinghis eyes critically with one hand. "You object to the change, but formy part I don't object to changes. I trust I may live to see the daywhen even this sign will have to be altered to--Slocum, Shackford &Son. How would you like that?"

"I can't say, " returned Richard laughing, as they passed into theyard together. "I should first have to talk it over--with the son!"

The End