Michael came in bringing toast. He indicated the note with a wave of his pudgy hand. "Mr. Charles asked me to hand it to you," he said, in a grave tone which caught the attention of Celeste and caused her eyes to linger on his face inquiringly.
"Is he coming down?" she asked.
For the first time in his experience as a family servant Michael deliberately5 decided6 not to answer. He pretended not to have heard and turned from the room.
William took grim notice of the failure on the man's part. He tore off the end of the envelope, drew out the note, and read it. A thrill of joyous7 relief went over him. With tingling8 fingers he folded it and put it back into the envelope, and then placed it in his pocket. The rays of the sun falling in at the window on the plants and flowers held a beauty he had never seen before. Life—life! After all, he was to live! Charles was gone and all would yet be well. His wife was looking straight at him now.
"Good news of some sort," she smiled, as she spoke9.
"Why, why do you think that?" he inquired, his beaming eyes steadying into an uneasy stare.
"Because I saw it in your face just then," she answered. "But why is he writing you when he could have come down and seen you? Is—is he all right?"
William wondered what he could now say. Why had it not occurred to him that he must be as adroit10 in his explanations to his wife as to the bank examiners, the directors, the public in general?
His brain seemed too heavy to deal adequately with a situation so delicate and fraught11 with pitfalls12, for Celeste had a subtle intuition.
"Yes, he is all right," William said. "That is, he is not—was not drinking yesterday or last evening when I saw him at the bank. In this note he tells me that he has left town. I don't think he slept here last night. Did he, Michael?" The butler was entering with the eggs and bacon. "Did my brother sleep in his room last night?"
"I think not, sir," Michael answered, stiffly, avoiding the straight gaze of his mistress as he put the platter down by his master. "At least he was not there half an hour ago."
"But he gave you the note," Celeste put in, insistently13.
"That was last night," Michael said. "He gave it to me when he came in. I was to hand it to you, sir, at breakfast."
"It is all right," William said, evasively. He took up a spoon to help himself to the eggs, but awkwardly dropped it. Michael served him with steady hands and unruffled mien14. "Yes, he is all right. He says he wants to leave Boston for a while. You know he has had some troubles of late."
"Gone without saying anything to me or Ruth?" Celeste said, her thin lips twitching15. "Why, I can't understand it! Is there anything in the note about the length of time he will be away?"
"I can't explain now," William returned, frowning over his coffee-cup. "Perhaps later to-day I may tell you more. I—I don't want to talk about it now. I have hard work before me to-day at the bank—a meeting of the directors, and other things of importance."
Celeste stared stolidly16. She sat a moment erect17 in her chair, then said, crisply, "If you will excuse me, I'll go attend to Ruth."
William half rose as she got up, and then with a limp attitude of relief he sank back into his chair. He had not touched his eggs and toast. He drank his coffee rapidly and signaled the butler to fill his cup again. "Strong," he said; "no cream or sugar."
"Very well, sir." Michael obeyed with sympathetic deliberation. He evidently wanted to talk to his master about his brother, but he could find no plausible18 excuse for so doing. William bolted a few mouthfuls of the food on his plate, finished his third cup of coffee, and rose.
"I shall not be here to lunch," he said. "We'll have something served in the bank."
"Very well, sir." Michael drew his chair back and bowed as his master left the room.
William was getting his hat from the rack in the hall when Celeste came to the top of the stairs. "Do you want to see Ruth before you go?" she called down. "She is awake, but not quite dressed."
"Not now, dear. I am in an awful hurry," he said, impatiently. "I have no time to lose."
"Very well," Celeste coldly replied, and disappeared.
Outside the sun was shining brightly; the air was invigorating with its bare hint of dewiness on the trees and sward of the Common which he was crossing. A wondrous19 haze20 draped the Public Gardens some distance away on his right. On his left, the golden dome21 of the State House blazed under its reflected fire. The city's dull hum fell upon his ears, punctuated22 by the far-off peal23 of a bell.
Was Charles safely away? he asked himself. If only he had one more day between him and discovery how much better it would be! But that was out of the question. The thing that was to be done must be done at once. After all, what was there so terrible about it? Charles would make his way in some fashion, and the family disgrace would be avoided. Suicide? Nothing could be worse than suicide. Ah, but Charles might be followed and detained! In that case he would be put on trial for the crime, and of course he could no longer play the part he had undertaken. Then it would be suicide for himself; yes, suicide was even yet a possible contingent24. He shuddered25; the sunlight lost its charm, the air its bracing26 quality. He plunged27 on now, glancing neither to the right nor to the left, and his step was heavy as he entered the bank. It was open for business, and very active in the counting-rooms. Typewriting and adding machines were clicking. In the office of the president, a raised voice could be heard dictating28 a letter in studied paragraphs. William hung up his hat in the little anteroom and sat down at his desk. Automatically he felt in his pocket for the note Charles had written. He understood the afterthought which had inspired its writing, but he shrank from availing himself of it. He must appear to be busy, he told himself, and yet what could be done by a man in his state of suspense29? Could one dictate30 a letter or add a column of figures while momentarily expecting the verdict of a jury as to whether he should live or die? The bank examiners would soon come. The ordeal31 of meeting their experienced scrutiny32 would be impossible in his present state of mind. How could he escape it? The note! Ah yes, the note! With the revelation once made to the president, his privacy would be respected. It was a terrible thing for a brother to do, but as a matter of sheer self-preservation, it had to be done. The dictating in the president's office had ceased. The girl stenographer33, with her notes in hand, was hurrying past his open door. Now was the time, but he must first set the scene for the drama. He got up, went to the vault34, drew open the massive door, busied his distraught brain over a combination, opened an inner safe. He remained there for a moment and then came out. A clerk glanced up from a big book of commercial reports, bowed respectfully, and then stared almost in alarm at his superior.
"My God!" he heard the banker say. "My God!"
With Charles's note in his hand William moved on to the office of the president. The door was partially35 open. He pushed it aside and entered. A heavy-set gentleman past sixty years of age, with a reddish face and iron-gray hair, raised a pair of frank blue eyes. "Well, Browne, we've got to show a clean record to-day," he began, jestingly. "This fellow McCurdy thinks he is a regular Sherlock Holmes. You know he was the slick chap that exposed—" He suddenly checked himself. The jovial36 smile left his facile mouth, for William was now in the full light of the electric lamp on the desk.
"I have bad news, Bradford," William gulped37, putting his bloodless hand on the roll-top of the mahogany desk, the hand clutching his brother's note.
"Bad news?" Bradford repeated, in slow amazement38. "Why, what's happened? You look—look—"
"The safe has been robbed!" William's words tripped over one another, as they tumbled from his pallid39 lips. "I found this note, and went to see if—if what it says could be true. See! Look!"
William spread out the crumpled40 note, and laid it before Bradford's widening eyes, and then stepped back and stood still and silent behind him. There was only a moment's pause. Bradford whirled around in his revolving-chair.
"My God!" he cried. "Your brother! I was afraid something might go wrong. Several of us were; but on your account—"
"I understand," William leaned forward. There was almost unexpected support in the president's tone and phrasing, laden41 as it was with sympathy. "I have made a great, great mistake, Bradford, and I will do all in my power to make up for it. In a short while—a month, six weeks—I can replace that money out of my own funds, and I want to do it—I must do it. I want the directors and you to understand that. Will you tell them? Will you do that for me? The money is almost in sight. I'm sure it is coming. I only need a little time."
"That will be considered later." Bradford stood up. His hand was extended to the limp man before him. "I sympathize with you, Browne. I have been sorry for you all along on account of your brother's conduct, and of course I am more so now. You need not fear that the matter will impair42 your own standing43 with us. The fact that you propose to return the money is sufficient proof of your personal integrity. Now—now, leave everything to me. You are in no shape for business. Why, you have gone all to pieces! Leave it all to me. If I were you I'd go home. This will create a sensation—it can't be avoided—and why should you be in the midst of it?"
William heard himself muttering subdued44 words of thanks. He felt his hand warmly pressed; the arm of a friend and old associate was around his shoulders as he turned away.
Reaching his office, William entered, closed the door, and sat down at his desk, his fixed45 stare on the large, spotless green blotting-pad. What ailed46 him? Why was he so filled with excruciating agony? A better way of escape than he had hoped for had opened out before him. The bank examiners, the directors, the depositors would respect his feelings and think nothing prejudicial to him for absenting himself from the scene. They would regard him as a well-meaning man impoverished47 by the irresponsible acts of a drunkard relative. If anything, their respect would be heightened by his generous offer of reimbursement48. He told all this to his benumbed consciousness, but it failed to revivify the soul within him.
"Sixty thousand dollars!" It was a voice from a telephone-booth near by, a voice unwittingly raised too high, through excitement. It was Bradford speaking to one of the directors at his suburban49 home.
"Yes, Davis, you must hurry in. We'll wait for you." Here some words became indistinct in the tread of hurried feet in the counting-room and corridors, then: "Oh yes, poor fellow! he is all broken up over it. Surprised him like all the rest. I must say I didn't think it of Charlie. I loved the boy, in a way, but I presume he got entangled50 in some—Well, you know what I mean. It will get the best of 'em down sooner or later. Yes. All right. Good-by. Oh, say, hurry in. We must decide what we are going to do about the police. We must be quick about that. Unpleasant as it will be for Browne, the boy must be caught. At least that is my opinion, and I think we ought to offer a reward. Think it over and hurry in. We need you. Good-by."
William, his stare still on the green pad before him, heard Bradford closing the door of the booth. He recognized the voice of one of the directors who had just come in and had met the president in the corridor.
"It has taken me off my feet," the man said, angrily. "What a bunch of fools we were! The young villain51! What other bank would have allowed him to be around, after—"
"'Sh!" Through the very walls and closed door William saw the president's considerate thumb jerked in his direction. "'Sh! He'll hear. There'll be no permanent loss to us, you know. The newspapers must put that in. It will prevent a run on us. McCurdy is in my office. We'll get together soon."
Their voices died down. The telephone-bells were jingling52 from all directions.
"Is that police headquarters? Well, this is—"
William would have stood up, his ear to the door, had he not known so well all that was flying over the wires. The clerk at the 'phone in the nearest booth was now in communication with the editorial office of a leading daily.
"Yes, you can send him around," the clerk said. "I'll tell him all I know about it."
William clasped his hands between his gaunt knees. He had once deliberately planned suicide to avoid facing his accusers. Yet now, with safety in his grasp, how could he face the defamers of his innocent brother? Strange, but this was agony—even greater agony than the other situation. He told himself that he must get away from it, for the moment, anyway. Bradford had suggested a loophole. No man of refinement53 would want to be present during the investigation54 of his own brother's ill conduct. No, he would go out, home, for a walk—somewhere, anywhere. He had left Charles's note with Bradford. That was sufficient in all reason to absolve55 William from any suspicion whatever. Yes, he would go. There were situations under which a man's leaving such a scene would suggest complicity, but this would imply naught56 else than broken-hearted innocence57 burdened beyond physical endurance. Taking his hat, he went out into the street. As he passed the main counting-room many eyes were lifted from ponderous58 tomes and machines. Curiosity and sympathy combined were in the awed59 and stealthy glances. Outside, at the door, a group had gathered. It was as if a telepathic sense of the tragedy within had permeated60 the walls.
"There he goes! That's his brother!" reached William's ears as he elbowed his way to the pavement. "Hey! there comes the chief of police!" the same voice said. "Quick action, if he is fat, eh?"
William did not care to see the official in question even at a distance. He kept his eyes on the ground and hurried away. Home? he asked himself. No, not now—not now. Celeste would wonder. She would have to be told, and how could he tell her the thing that his reason assured him she would never believe? A woman's intuition! Ah, it was to be dreaded61! It did not lend itself readily to practical subterfuge62. Business men, bank examiners, skilled detectives would be led by mere63 physical evidence—a man's written confession64, his open flight, his reckless past and inebriety65, but a woman's faith was too deep and well-informed for that. What was to be done—what? He crossed the Common; he plunged into the Public Gardens; he strode through into Commonwealth66 Avenue, and on and on. He knew not where he was going or with what object in view, but he must keep in motion. He wanted to put a certain thing behind him, but that thing was in his brain and it was producing a thousand pictures—pictures of his boyhood with Charles as a toddling67 infant beside him; of his later young manhood with Charles, a careless school-boy shirking his studies for open-air sport; Charles as he entered the bank under his protection; Charles in the beginning of his reckless career; Charles as he had last seen him, drawing the accumulated burthen of another man's folly68 upon his sturdy, repentant69 shoulders. Great God! How could he go through with it? And yet it must be done. The terrible game must be played to a finish. After all, was the whole thing not right? Through this sacrifice were not a good woman and a helpless child escaping shame and misery70? True, he had made a misstep, but so had Charles. It would be comforting to know that, in a sense, he and Charles were on a sort of level. Ah, but they were not—they were not! Pragmatically tested, they were different. Charles was now living in the joyful71 consciousness that a great good was to come out of his self-renunciation; but it was vastly different with the man for whom the renunciation had been made. William had never loved his brother so much as now. He had never before been capable of such a love. From the depths of the pit into which he had fallen Charles appeared as a far-off superman. William might have wept, but men do not weep while in terror, and William was afraid. After all, he asked himself, with a start, how could he be sure that his secret transactions in stocks might not be ferreted out by this same McCurdy, or some one else? These facts brought to light and the authorities would readily see through the thin ruse72 that was being perpetrated.
For more than two hours he walked, here and there. He crossed the bridge to Cambridge. His dull stare swept the various college buildings and stately clubs, but they only reminded him of Charles and what Charles was doing for him. Why, the day Charles was graduated his friends had honored him with—But why think of trivialities? Perhaps at the bank some further discovery was being made. Had he covered his tracks completely? How could he tell? He turned abruptly73 homeward. He would plead a headache; he would shut himself in his room; he would explain nothing to Celeste. She would wonder, but the newspapers would tell her all.
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1
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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pitfalls
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| （捕猎野兽用的）陷阱( pitfall的名词复数 )； 意想不到的困难，易犯的错误 | |
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insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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punctuated
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| v.（在文字中）加标点符号，加标点( punctuate的过去式和过去分词 )；不时打断某事物 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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bracing
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| adj.令人振奋的 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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dictating
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的现在分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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stenographer
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| n.速记员 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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gulped
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| v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的过去式和过去分词 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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impair
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| v.损害，损伤；削弱，减少 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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ailed
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| v.生病( ail的过去式和过去分词 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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47
impoverished
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| adj.穷困的，无力的，用尽了的v.使（某人）贫穷( impoverish的过去式和过去分词 )；使（某物）贫瘠或恶化 | |
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reimbursement
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| n.偿还，退还 | |
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49
suburban
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| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
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50
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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51
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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52
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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53
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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54
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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55
absolve
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| v.赦免，解除（责任等） | |
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56
naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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57
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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58
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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59
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
permeated
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| 弥漫( permeate的过去式和过去分词 )； 遍布； 渗入； 渗透 | |
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61
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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62
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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63
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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64
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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65
inebriety
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| n.醉，陶醉 | |
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66
commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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67
toddling
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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68
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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69
repentant
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| adj.对…感到悔恨的 | |
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70
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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71
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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72
ruse
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| n.诡计，计策；诡计 | |
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73
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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