Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 268: what you’re looking at

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

BY FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCE. and America forever. So be it. Chance shall decide for me.” He paid his bill and departed with- out a word, and all that day he went about the streets of the city, as uncon- cerned as though he were engaged upon his everyday affairs. | The condition of his mind was re- markable. He scarcely thought of Henry Hollister at all, and if he did, it was only with regret that the man was, as he supposed, dead, not with the feel- ing of guilt upon his conscience that he had killed him. That would come later when he had partially recovered from the anguish of his lifelong separation from Hope. The death of her father had severed what- ever imaginary link there might have remained, connecting her to him; fur- thermore, he had not yet wholly for- given the old man for his ghastly sug- gestion. During the day, he met and passed upon the streets, many of his old friends, but not one of them thought of recognizing him, even though his dress was the same as yesterday; but he did not address one of them, nor did one of them attempt to speak to him. When, years afterwards he looked back upon that day, he realized that he must have been in a semi stupor, irresponsible for what he did, and for what he failed to do. But he did not know it then. Boys attempted to sell papers to him, and he heard them cry something rela- tive to the bank where he had worked all his life, something about Henry Hollister; but he did not understand what they said, and he would not read the papers, believing that he already knew more than the printed columns could tell him; but he did not know as much. Afterwards when he did know, he regretted that he had not read them. Afternoon found him at the corner of Wall Street and Broadway, and he realized that he had been walking steadily for nearly twelve hours—that he had not eaten nor rested in all that 259 time ; and at that moment, two gentle- men, satcheled and bundled, hurried past him in the direction of the East river. He heard one of them say to the other, in Spanish: “ Ouertda Cuba! No mas que tres dias averlo, Me gusto mucho.” Ashton smiled. The haphazard words conveyed the suggestion for which his disturbed soul had been long- ing. Travel. He acted upon the impulse, crossed the street, and in a moment, without realizing the price he paid, had pur- chased a satchel. There was a haber- dasher around the corner, and he hur- ried there, filled the bag with whatever the clerk suggested, and almost before he comprehended that he had formed a resolution, he was hurrying down Wall Street toward the Ward Line pier, where the Vigilancia was awaiting the hour to dash into the open sea. He remembered, when he purchased his ticket, that he might be stopped, but he did not particularly care. The name of Ashton did not belong to him, and when the clerk requested his name for the passenger list, he gave the one he had thought out during the day. He did not do this to avoid recogni- tion; he did not think of that; but he gave the one that he had determined to adopt. It was the only one to which he considered that he had any right; the name of his college—of his alma mater—and he was registered as John Cornell. Thus the Vigilancia sailed away with him. He went to Cuba, and for a week wandered aimlessly about the city of Havana, doing nothing; only thinking ; always thinking. He constantly hun- gered for news from home, but he as studiously avoided it. “Tt is the only way to forget,’ he thought, when the longing for infor- mation concerning Hope almost over- came him, and he fled from the intelli- gence that was his chief desire, just as the reformed drunkard flees from con- vivial friends of the besotted past. EOMRIC OOOkKS CO