Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 266: what you’re looking at

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

BY FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 257 his voice trembled, although it was al- most imperceptible, “if you are man enough to use that, I can forgive you and remember you with affection. Through that weapon lies my forgive- ness. I cannot denounce you. I will not besmirch my own honor by sending you to prison. The money loss I can bear without injury. God knows that I would have given ten times that sum rather than to have lived through this hour. Write a letter offering any rea- son you please except the right one, and then, with that weapon, follow the only path that is left open to you.” Ashton shook his head slowly. “It is too late; sir. Pardon me; sir; permit me to finish. I had thought of that before you came, and if I still be- lieved myself related to you, I would do it. As it is, I will not. Besides—and this is foolish and silly, you will say— once, when Hope and I were children, there was a suicide in the neighbor- hood. We discussed it, and solemnly promised each other that neither of us would ever commit such a deed. It was a meaningless, childish discussion, but for some reason it comes back to me now. I think Hope would like to have me keep the promise that I made to her when a child; I know that she would if she knew all. I refuse, sir. I will never take my own life.” Henry Hollister heard him patiently to the end, but his lips tightened and his eyes became flercer ; and when Ash- ton had finished, he leaped suddenly forward and seized the weapon in his own grasp. Intense suffering had mad- dened him for the moment. “Then, by God, Ill do it for you!” he cried. John Ashton was younger and quicker than the banker. He leaped forward and seized Henry Hollister’s wrist across the table, and thus threw up hisarm. The weapon was exploded, but the bullet was imbedded in the ceil- ing instead of in Ashton’s head. Then, before the maddened man could free himself, the cashier sprang over the table and seized him. For a moment they struggled fiercely, one only to tear the pistol from the grasp of his assailant, and the other to use it again upon the man he wished to kill. _ It was all over in a moment. Henry Hollister was old and his once great strength was now only spasmodic. John Ashton was a practised athlete. The younger man threw the other from him at last, with great force, so that he was hurled bodily across the counting room, and fell against the small iron safe from which he had taken the revolver. The top of his head crashed against the unyielding metal, and he sank to the floor, a shuddering, quivering mass of senseless clay. There was no sound except that one crash and the dull thump of the body upon the floor; and after that, silence most profound. John Ashton was alone in the room. | For a moment after it was over he stood perfectly still, with his eyes fixed upon the fallen man. Then he crossed over to him, lifted the inanimate form in his arms and carried it to the sofa. Then he got down on his knees, and with one ear pressed against the bank- er’s breast, listened for the beating of that heart that had loved him so ten- derly all his hife. But there was no sound, no fluttering effort to denote that life still dwelt there. Ashton rose to his feet again, and sighing heavily, went to the table, where with steady hand he wrote: We quarreled. There was a struggle I threw him from me and he fell, striking his head against the safe. I had no thought of injuring him, but he is dead, and by my hand. Joan C. ASHTON. Then he turned down the light, crossed to the sofa once again, and bending down, pressed his lips against the banker’s forehead; then calmly he went to the door, passed out upon the street, and from that moment John EOMRIC OOOkKS CO