RETURNING CONSCIOUSNESS
Mr. Arnot did not leave his library that night. His wife came to the
door and found it locked. To her appeal he replied coldly, but
decisively, that he was engaged.
She sighed deeply, feeling that the sojourn of young Haldane under her
roof was destined to end in a manner most painful to herself and to her
friend, his mother. She feared that the latter would blame her somewhat
for his miserable fiasco, and she fully believed that if her husband
permitted the young man to suffer open disgrace, she would never be
forgiven by the proud and aristocratic lady.
And yet she felt that it was almost useless to speak to her husband in
his present mood, or to hope that he could be induced to show much
consideration for so grave an offense.
Of the worst feature in Haldane's conduct, however, she had no
knowledge. Mr. Arnot rarely spoke to his wife concerning his business,
and she had merely learned, the previous evening, that Haldane had been
sent to New York upon some errand. Acting upon the supposition that her
husband had remembered and complied with her request, she graciously
thanked him for giving the young man a little change and diverting
novelty of scene.
Mr. Arnot, who happened to verge somewhat toward a complacent mood upon
this occasion, smiled grimly at his wife's commendation, and even unbent
so far as to indulge in some ponderous attempts at wit with Laura
concerning her "magnificent offer," and asserted that if she had been
"like his wife, she would have jumped at the chance of getting hold of
such a crude, unreformed specimen of humanity. Indeed," concluded he, "I
did not know but that Mrs. Arnot was bringing about the match, so that
she might have a little of the raw material for reformatory purposes
continually on hand."
Mrs. Arnot smiled, as she ever did, at her husband's attempted
witticisms; but what he regarded as light, delicate shafts, winged
sportively and carelessly, had rather the character of any heavy object
that came to hand thrown at her with heedless, inconsiderate force. It
is due Mr. Arnot to say that he gave so little thought and attention to
the wounds and bruises he caused, as to be unaware that any had been
made. He had no hair-springs and jewel-tipped machinery in his massive,
angular organization, and he acted practically as if the rest of
humanity had been cast in the same mold with himself.
But Haldane's act touched him at his most vulnerable point. Not only had
a large sum of his money been made away with, but, what was far worse,
there had been a most serious irregularity in the business routine.
While, therefore, he resolved that Haldane should receive full
punishment, the ulterior thought of giving the rest of his employes a
warning and intimidating lesson chiefly occupied his mind.
Aware of his wife's "unbusinesslike weakness and sentimental notions,"
as he characterized her traits, he determined not to see her until he
had carried out his plan of securing repayment of the money, and of
striking a salutary sentiment of fear into the hearts of all who were
engaged in carrying out his methodical will.
Therefore, with the key of Haldane's room in his pocket, he kept watch
and guard during the remainder of the night, taking only such rest as
could be obtained on the lounge in his library.
At about sunrise two men appeared, and rapped lightly on the library
window. Mr. Arnot immediately went out to them, and placed one within a
summer-house in the spacious garden at the rear of the house, and the
other in front, where he would be partially concealed by evergreens. By
this arrangement the windows of Haldane's apartment and every entrance
of the house were under the surveillance of police officers in citizen's
dress. Mr. Arnot's own personal pride, as well as some regard for his
wife's feelings, led him to arrange that the arrest should not be made
at their residence, for he wished that all the events occurring at the
house should be excluded as far as possible from the inevitable talk
which the affair would occasion. At the same time he proposed to guard
against the possibility of Haldane's escape, should fear or shame prompt
his flight.
Having now two assistant watchers, he threw himself on the sofa, and
took an hour or more of unbroken sleep. On awaking, he went with silent
tread to the door of Haldane's room, and, afer listening a moment, was
satisfied from the heavy breathing within that its occupant was still
under the influence of stupor. He now returned the key to the door, and
unlocked it so that Haldane could pass out as soon as he was able. Then,
after taking a little refreshment in the dining-room, he went directly
to the residence of a police justice of his acquaintance, who, on
hearing the facts as far as then known concerning Haldane, made out a
warrant for his arrest, and promised that the officer to whom it would
be given should be sent forthwith to Mr. Arnot's office--for thither the
young man would first come, or be brought, on recovering from his heavy
sleep.
Believing that he had now made all the arrangements necessary to secure
himself from loss, and to impress the small army in his service that
honesty was the "best policy" in their relations with him, Mr. Arnot
walked leisurely to one of his factories in the suburbs, partly to see
that all was right, and partly to remind his agents there that they were
in the employ of one whose untiring vigilance would not permit any
neglect of duty to escape undetected.
Having noted that the routine of work was going forward as regularly as
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.