When Mr. Denton left that scene of sorrow in which Faith Marvin had just played so sweet a role, he could not possibly have described his tumultuous feelings. Not a night since that sad death in the cloak-room had he been able to sleep peacefully, and even by day his thoughts were sorely disturbed. It was, as his son had said, as though the spirit of Miss Jennings was haunting him.
He was not a bad-hearted man by any means, but, like hundreds of others, he thought only of his own interests and those of his wife and son, who were very dear to him. Out of his own station in life he rarely looked, and the question of equal rights never presented itself to him seriously.
Now, however, something had taken possession of him which he could not understand. He was beginning to meditate upon the rights of others.
As he hurried home after those brief moments at the undertaker's, he went over the scenes of the last few days, trying to determine the causes which led to his perturbation of spirit.
First and foremost in his mind was the conversation with the Government Inspector just before the death of Miss Jennings. She had taken him seriously to task about the condition of the store, and her words had stung him; they were so earnest and truthful. At the very moment of his entrance to the cloak-room he was mentally censuring himself for his almost criminal thoughtlessness for the consideration of others.
Then came the dying words and the glance of those death-glazed eyes. He shuddered even now when he recalled them so vividly.
Since then the awakening of his conscience had come, he had seen himself exactly as he was, a traitor to himself, to humanity, and to his God, and the sight filled him with remorse. He was shamed and repentant.
What to do next, was the question of his soul. He could not undo the past, but, thank God, there was still a present and a future!
He paced the floor of his library long after his wife and son were in bed, but the next morning at breakfast he told them his decision.
Mrs. Denton was a vain woman, who thought of little but the fashions, and whose time was nearly always taken up with what she termed her "social obligations."