A KNIGHT OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY by Edward Payson Roe (red seas under red skies .TXT) 📕

The Monotonous Clank Of The Machinery, He Finally Wended his Way To His

City Office, And Was The First Arrival Thither Save Pat M'Cabe, Who Had

Just Finished putting The Place In order For The Business Of The Day.

His Factotum Was In mortal Trepidation, For In coming across Town He Had

Eagerly Bought The Morning "Courier," And His Complacent Sense Of

Security At Having Withheld His Name From The "Oncivil Iditer" Vanished

Utterly As He Read The Words, "An Intelligent Irishman In mr. Arnot'S

Employ."

"Och! Bloody Blazes! That Manes Me," He Had Exclaimed; "And Ould Boss

Arnot Will Know It Jist As Well As If They Had Printed me Name All Over

The Paper. Bad Luck To The Spalpeen, And Worse Luck To Meself!

'Intilligent Irishman,' Am I? Then What Kind O' A Crather Would One Be

As Had No Sinse A' Tall? Here I'Ve Bin Throwin' Away Fotry Dollars The

Month For The Sake O' One! Whin I Gets Me Discharge I'D Better Go Round

To The Tother Side O' The Airth' Than Go Home To Me Woife."

Nor Were His Apprehensions Allayed as He Saw Mr. Arnot Reading The Paper

With A Darkening Scowl; But For The Present Pat Was Left In suspense As

To His Fate.

Clerks And Book-Keepers Soon Appeared, And Among Them A Policeman, Who

Was Summoned to The Inner Office, And Given A Seat Somewhat Out Of Sight

Behind The Door.

Upon Every Face There Was An Expression Of Suppressed excitement And

Expectation, For The Attention Of Those Who Had Not Seen The Morning

Paper Was Speedily Called to The Ominous Paragraph. But The Routine And

Discipline Of The Office Prevailed, And In a Few Minutes All Heads Were

Bending Over Bulky Journals And Ledgers, But With Many A Furtive Glance

At The Door.

As For Pat, He Had The Impression That The Policeman Within Would Collar

Him Before The Morning Was Over, And March Him Off, With Haldane, To

Jail; And He Was In such A State Of Nervous Apprehension That Almost Any

Event Short Of An Earthquake Would Be A Relief If It Could Only Happen

At Once.

The April Sun Shone Brightly And Genially Into The Apartment In which

Haldane Had Been Left To Sleep Off His Drunken Stupor. In all Its

Appointments It Appeared as Fresh, Inviting, And Cleanly As The

Wholesome Light Without. The Spirit Of The Housekeeper Pervaded every

Part Of The Mansion, And In both Furniture And Decoration It Would Seem

That She Had Studiously Excluded everything Which Would Suggest Morbid

Or Gloomy Thoughts. It Was Mrs. Arnot'S Philosophy That Outward

Surroundings Impart Their Coloring To The Mind, And Are A Help Or A

Hindrance. She Was A Disciple Of The Light, And Was Well Aware That She

Must Resolutely Dwell In its Full Effulgence In order To Escape From The

Blighting Shadow Of A Life-Long Disappointment. Thus She Sought To Make

Her Home, Not Gay Or Gaudy--Not A Brilliant Mockery Of Her Sorrow, Which

She Had Learned to Calmly Recognize As One Might A Village Cemetery In a

Sunny Landscape--But Cheerful And Lightsome Like This April Morning,

Which Looked in through The Curtained windows Of Haldane'S Apartment,

And Found Everything In harmony With Itself Save The Occupant.

And Yet He Was Young And In his Spring-Time. Why Should He Make Discord

With The Bright Fresh Morning? Because The Shadow Of Evil--Which Is

Darker Than The Shadow Of Night, Age, Or Sorrow--Rested upon Him. His

Hair Hung In disorder Over A Brow Which Was Contracted into A Frown. His

Naturally Fine Features Had A Heavy, Bloated, Sensual Aspect; And Yet,

Even While He Slept, You Caught A Glimpse In this Face--As Through A

Veil--Of The Anguish Of A Spirit That Was Suffering Brutal Wrong And

Violence.

His Insensibility Was Passing away. His Mind Appeared to Be Struggling

To Cast Off The Weight Of A Stupefied body, But For A Time Its

Throes--Which Were Manifested by Starts, Strong Shudderings, And

Muttered words--Were Ineffectual. At Last, In desperation, As It Were,

The Tortured soul, Poisoned even In its Imaginings By The Impurity Of

The Lower Nature, Conjured up Such A Horrid Vision That In its Anguish

It Broke Its Chains, Threw Off The Crushing Weight, And The Young Man

Started up.

This Returning Consciousness Had Not Been, Like The Dawn Stealing In at

His Window, Followed by A Burst Of Sunlight. As The Morning Enters The

Stained, Foul, Dingy Places Of Dissipation, Which Early In the Evening

Had Been The Gas-Lighted, Garish Scenes Of Riot And Senseless Laughter,

And Later The Fighting Ground Of All The Vile Vermin Of The Night With

Their Uncanny Noises--As When, The Doors And Windows Having Been At Last

Opened, The Light Struggles In through Stale Tobacco-Smoke, Revealing

Dimly A Discolored, Reeking Place, Whose Sights And Odors Are More In

Harmony With The Sewer Than The Sweet April Sunshine And The Violets

Opening On Southern Slopes--So When Reason And Memory, The Janitors Of

The Mind, First Admitted the Light Of Consciousness, Only The Obscure

Outline Of Miserable Feelings And Repulsive Events Were Manifest To

Haldane'S Introspection.

There Was A Momentary Relief At Finding That The Horrible Dream Which

Had Awakened him Was Only A Dream, But While His Waking Banished the

Uncouth Shapes Of The Imagination, His Sane, Will-Guided vision Saw

Revealed that From Which He Shrank With Far Greater Dread.

For A Few Moments, As He Stared vacantly Around The Room, He Could

Realize Nothing Save A Dull, Leaden Weight Of Pain. In this Dreary

Obscurity Of Suffering, Distinct Causes Of Trouble And Fear Began To

Shape Themselves. There Was A Mingled sense Of Misfortune And Guilt. He

Had A Confused memory Of A Great Disappointment, And He Knew From His

Condition That He Had Been Drinking.

He Looked at Himself--He Was Dressed. There Stood His Muddy Boots--Two

Foul Blots On The Beauty And Cleanliness Of The Room. So Then He Had

Come, Or Had Been Brought, At Some Hour During The Night, To The House

Of His Stern And Exacting Employer. Haldane Dismissed the Thought Of Him

With A Reckless Oath; But His Face Darkened with Anguish As He

Remembered that This Was Also The Home Of Mrs. Arnot, Who Had Been So

Kind, And, At The Present Time, The Home Of Laura Romeyn Also.

They May Have Seen, Or, At Least, Must Know Of, His Degradation.

He Staggered to The Ewer, And, With A Trembling Hand, Poured out A

Little Water. Having Bathed his Hot, Feverish Face, He Again Sat Down,

And Tried to Recall What Had Happened.

In Bitterness Of Heart He Remembered his Last Interview With Laura, And

Her Repugnance Toward Both Himself And What She Regarded as "His

Disgusting Vices," And So Disgusting Did His Evil Courses Now Seem That,

For The First Time In his Life, He Thought Of Himself With Loathing.

Then, As Memory Rapidly Duplicated subsequent Events, He Gave A

Contemptuous Smile To His "Gloomy Grandeur" Schemes In passing, And Saw

Himself On The Way To New York, With One Thousand Dollars Of His

Employer'S Funds Intrusted to His Care. He Remembered that He Was

Introduced to Two Fascinating Strangers, That They Drank And Lunched

Together, That They Missed the Train, That They Were Gambling, That,

Having Lost All His Own Money, He Was Tempted to Open A Package

Belonging To Mr. Arnot; Did He Not Open The Other Also? At This Point

All Became Confused and Blurred.

What Had Become Of That Money?

With Nervous, Trembling Haste He Searched his Pockets. Both The Money

And The Envelopes Were Gone.

His Face Blanched; His Heart Sank With A Certain Foreboding Of Evil. He

Found Himself On The Brink Of An Abyss, And Felt The Ground Crumbling

Beneath Him. First Came A Mad Impulse To Fly, To Escape And Hide

Himself; And He Had Almost Carried it Out. His Hand Was On The Door, But

He Hesitated, Turned back, And Walked the Floor In agony.

Then Came The Better Impulse Of One As Yet Unhardened in the Ways Of

Evil, To Go At Once To His Employer, Tell The Whole Truth, And Make Such

Reparation As Was Within His Power. He Knew That His Mother Was

Abundantly Able To Pay Back The Money, And He Believed she Would Do So.

This He Conceded was His Best, And, Indeed, Only Safe Course, And He

Hoped that The Wretched affair Might Be So Arranged as To Be Kept Hidden

From The World. As For Mrs. Arnot And Laura, He Felt That He Could Never

Look Them In the Face Again.

Suppose He Should Meet Them Going Out. The Very Thought Was Dreadful,

And It Seemed to Him That He Would Sink To The Floor From Shame Under

Their Reproachful Eyes. Would They Be Up Yet? He Looked at His Watch; It

Had Run Down, And Its Motionless Hands Pointed at The Vile, Helpless

Condition In which He Must Have Been At The Time When He Usually Wound

It Up.

He Glanced from The Window, With The Hope Of Escaping The Two Human

Beings Whom He Dreaded more Than The Whole Mocking World; But It Was Too

Lofty To Admit Of A Leap To The Ground.

"Who Is Yonder Strange Man That Seems To Be Watching The House?" He

Queried.

Was It His Shaken Nerves And Sense Of Guilt Which Led him To Suspect

Danger And Trouble On Every Side?

"There Is No Help For It," He Exclaimed, Grinding His Teeth; And,

Opening The Door, He Hastened from The House, Looking Neither To The

Right Hand Nor To The Left.

As Haldane Strode Rapidly Along The Winding, Gravelled path That Led

From Mrs. Arnot'S Beautiful Suburban Villa To The Street, He Started

Violently As He Encountered a Stranger, Who Appeared to Be Coming Toward

The Mansion; And He Was Greatly Relieved when He Was Permitted to Pass

Unmolested. And Yet The Cool Glance Of Scrutiny Which He Received left A

Very Unpleasant Impression. Nor Was This Uneasiness Diminished when, On

Reaching The Street, He Found That The Stranger Had Apparently

Accomplished his Errand To The House So Speedily That He Was Already

Returning, And Accompanied by Another Man.

Were Not Their Eyes Fixed on Him, Or Was He Misled by His Fears? After A

Little Time He Looked around Again. One Of The Men Had Disappeared, And

He Breathed more Fully. No; There He Was On The Opposite Side Of The

Street, And Walking Steadily Abreast With Him, While His Companion

Continued following about The Same Distance Away.

Was He "Shadowed"? He Was, Indeed, Literally And Figuratively. Although

The Sun Was Shining Bright And Warm, Never Before Had He Been Conscious

Of Such A Horror Of Great Darkness. The Light Which Can Banish The

Oppressive, Disheartening Shadow Of Guilt Must Come From Beyond The Sun.

As He Entered the Busier Streets In the Vicinity Of The Office, He Saw A

Few Persons Whom He Knew. Was He Again Misled by His Overwrought And

Nervous Condition? Or Did These Persons Try To Shun Him By Turning

Corners, Entering Shops, Or By Crossing The Street, And Looking

Resolutely The Other Way.

Could That Awful Entity, The World, Already Know The Events Of The Past

Night?

A Newsboy Was Vociferating Down A Side Street. The Word "Crime" Only

Caught Haldane'S Ear, But The Effect Was As Cold And As Chilling as The

Drip Of An Icicle.

As He Hastened up The Office Steps, Pat M'Cabe Scowled upon Him, And

Muttered audibly:

"Bad Luck Till Yees! I Wish I'D Lift Ye Ablinkin' Like An Owl Where I

Found Ye."

"An' Back Luck Till Yees, Too," Added pat In his Surly Growl, As A

Reporter, Note-Book In hand, Stepped nimbly In after Haldane; "It'S

Meself That Wishes Iviry Iditer O' The Land Was Burned up Wid His Own

Lyin' Papers."

Even The Most Machine-Like Of The Sere And Withered book-Keepers Held

Their Pens In suspense As Haldane Passed hastily Toward Mr. Arnot'S

Private Office, Followed by The Reporter, Whose Alert Manner And

Observant, Questioning Eye Suggested an Animated symbol Of

Interrogation.

The Manner Of His Fellow Clerks Did Not Escape Haldane'S Notice Even In

That Confused and Hurried moment, And It Increased his Sense Of An

Impending Blow; But