Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 261: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

252 The man was John Ashton. Perhaps nobody would have thought of ques- tioning his right to be there; many might have regarded his presence there at that hour as unnecessary, or strange, but his right was unquestionable since he possessed a key and was cashier of the institution. Presently he passed on into the counting room where he turned up the light, seated himself in the president's chair, and with his chin upon his breast he remained for a long time as motion- less as a dead man, so wrapt was he in the disordered thoughts that teemed within his brain. | A physiognomist could have divined nothing from his stony countenance. All that anybody could have observed was that the face was handsome and noble, delicate and patrician, and that the eyes, when their owner raised them, were filled with a settled despair. Presently he shivered, as he might have done had a cold draft of air blown upon him. Then he rose from the chair and paced slowly up and down the room, still with bowed head, and with his hands tightly clasped behind his back. Often he unclasped them and clenched his fists, as if the problem upon which he was studying was too much for his brain to master—as 1f the burden under which he staggered was almost more than he could bear; and after that his hands. always returned to their former position behind his back and he resumed the meditative pacing as before. People who passed along the street outside could not see into the counting room, although the main part of the bank was plainly visible to all—but the bripht light shone through the win- dows, showing that the room was oc- cupied. While Ashton still strode up and down the room, the electric buzz in one corner gave a sudden alarm, and in- stantly his whole form changed its at- titude. He stood more erect, a glad THE ARGOSY. smile beamed upon his face, despair gave place to pleasure. “He has come! He has come!” he exclaimed aloud. “TI feared that he would not—that he would play me false at this last moment—but he has come!” He went hastily out of the room to the street door—the one that opened on the side street, for the bank stood on a corner—and threw it ajar, but only a uniformed messenger boy stood there, awaiting the reply to his summons. “Mr. John Ashton?” he inquired briskly. “Yes,” replied the cashier, as one who speaks mechanically, and without thought. | Then, in silence, he accepted the en- velope that was extended towards him, in silence he scrawled his name upon the book which the boy thrust into his hands, and in stlence he closed the door and turned again towards the room he had left so gladly only a moment be- fore; and when he stepped again into the full light, his face was gray with a despair tenfold greater than that which had shadowed it before the message came. | He placed the envelope upon the di- rectors’ table, and stood regarding it with the same expression that one sees pictured in the face of a child who is fascinated by a venomous snake which is slowly but surely crawling nearer and nearer, preparing to deal its fatal blow. “My God!” he said aloud, but with- . out being conscious that he did so, “ he has failed me! He has broken his sacred word of honor! He has left me to bear this terrible thing for him. He has sent me only this—only this!” and he seized the envelope and crushed it savagely in his right hand. For a full minute he remained thus, with the crumpled letter in his hand, and then his muscles relaxed, and slowly and methodically he broke the seal, permitted the torn envelope to flutter to the floor, and raised the sheet of paper that he had abstracted from it to his eyes. Here 1s what he read: CONMUG AOOLK CO