THAT word--purity, rang like a gong in Anthony's thoughts: Eliza had
emphasized it, questioning him. The term became inexplicably merged
with Eliza into one shining whole--Eliza, purity; purity, Eliza. A swift
impression of massed, white flowers swept before him, leaving a delicate
and trailing fragrance. He had a vision of purity as something concrete,
something which, like a priceless and fragile vase, he guarded in
his hands. It had been a charge from her, a trust that he must keep
unspotted, inviolable, that she would require--but she was gone, she was
dead.
“... through the valley of the shadow,” the other cried.
She had left him; he stood alone, guarding a meaningless thing, useless
as the money in his pocket.
A man with bare, corded arms and an apron, broke roughly through the
circle; and with a hand on Anthony's back, a hand on the back of
his opponent, urged them toward the door. “You'll have to take this
outside,” he pronounced, “you're blocking the bar.”
An arm linked within Anthony's, and swung him aside. “Unavoidably
detained by merest 'quaintance,” Thomas Meredith explained with
ponderous exactitude. Unobserved, they found a place at the table they
had occupied earlier in the evening. The latter ordered a fresh bottle,
but was persuaded by Anthony to surrender the check which accompanied
it.
A sudden hatred for the money that had come too late possessed him: if
he had had the whole forty-seven thousand dollars there he would have
torn it up, trampled upon it, flung it to the noisome corners of the
saloon. It seemed to have become his for the express purpose of mocking
at his sorrow, his loss. His hatred spread to include that purity, that
virtue, which he had conceived of as something material, an actual
possession.... That, at any rate, he might trample under foot, destroy,
when and as it pleased him. Eliza was gone and all that was left was
valueless. It had been, all unconsciously, dedicated to her; and now he
desired to cast it into the mold that held her.
He fingered with a new care the sum in his pocket, an admirably
comprehensive plan had occurred to him--he would bury them both, the
money and purity, beneath the same indignity. Tom Meredith, he was
certain, could direct his purpose to its fulfillment. Nor was he
mistaken. The conversation almost immediately swung to the subject of
girls, girls gracious, prodigal of their charms. They would sally forth
presently and “see the town.” Tom loudly asseverated his knowledge of
all the inmates of all the complacent quarters under the gas light.
Before a cab was summoned Anthony stumbled mysteriously to the bar,
returning with a square, paper-wrapped parcel.
“Port wine,” he ejaculated, “must have it... for a good time.”