Argosy, Vol. 1 (December 9, 1882) — page 134: what you’re looking at

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

AN UNSETTLED ACCOUNT. 127 of me; we loved each other. What could I do when she ran to me, and clung to me, and shuddered, saying over and over: ‘ Oh, I wish she wouldn't! I wish she wouldn’t!’ because you were sitting in the library?” A hoarse, strangled cry broke from Chris and he stood up. He had borne all a man could bear in silence—the universe staggered under his feet. “ Ramsey!” he cried, holding the edge of the table with both hands and facing the other’s stern, rigid face, “ for Heaven’s sake, stop! Do what you will, suggest what you please. I give up everything—only stop! Don’t you see you're killing me?” ‘“ And you propose to do——?” Daunt’s voice never wavered. “What you please. You have constituted yourself my judge—make my atonement. Only, for pity’s sake, don’t speak again of that poor child!” He felt another word would drive him mad. The clock, the rattle in the street outside, the crackle of the fire, the furious pace of his own heart—all beat to the time of those horrible words: ‘‘ Daunt—drunk—Alice—mad !”’ The two men faced each other. “ There is only one reparation possible,” said Daunt solemnly. The two pairs of eyes, one stern and steady, one hunted and desperate, met and under- stood each other. “Ah!” said Chris, very quietly. He sat down again, there was another pause. “In any case, it is one life for three,’ said Daunt, unswervingly pursuing his object. “I do not see that your life is of use to any one. Perhaps it was to your mother, but she is dead. Perhaps it was to my mother, but she, too, is dead. Since your mother died you have been quite alone, and there is nobody to care if you should go. Had she lived I should not have come to you in this way.” “If I had any self respect,” replied Chris, with a steadiness now equal to the other’s, “ I should call you a coward and challenge you. But the little J had was buried in that coffin today. And if I killed you, it would only be adding to my wretchedness.”’ “You are welcome to try!” Daunt said eagerly. Chris shook his head. “ No,” he said, “I won’t try. There’s no use in duels; two are hurt when one will do—and often nothing is gained. I said you were my judge, and your account against me is heavier than I can bear. I will pay it; for Alice -nd for you. You shall have your life, and you shall sign me a receipt for that account.” “You will do it?” cried Daunt, moved despite himself. “Here, tonight! I have always paid my debts, I shall pay this one, too. And it is not an overcharge.” He spoke more to himself than to the young man, who watched him silently. Back in his mind Daunt was conscious of feeling pity, and some- thing very like admiration. But the humor, or rather the fantasy, of the situa- tion never seemed to enter his mind nor that of Chris. It was not strange to either, that one should come to the other, deliber- ately proposing that he should commit suicide, and that the other should GOH GoOOO ‘SS COLNT