The Merivale banks

by Mary Jane Holmes

Then there came before him the picture of a ghastly face he had once seen with a bullet-hole in the temple. He could not subject his wife and Louie to that horrid sight, and, returning the revolver to its place, he crept back to bed, shivering with cold, although the night was hot and sultry and a storm was coming up. He could hear the faint mutterings of thunder, and listened as it grew nearer and nearer, until the house shook with the terrific peals and every corner of the room was ablaze with electricity.

“If it would only strike me!” he thought; and, going to the window, he watched the storm with a wish that the forked flame darting so viciously through the sky and seeming so near would take him with it—somewhere, he cared not where, so that he escaped what by some premonition he felt sure awaited him on the morrow.

It was to-morrow now, for as the storm passed, the early summer morning broke in all its fresh loveliness, and he thought how beautiful were the grounds around his house, with the raindrops on flower and shrub and grass. When he built the house he had deeded it to his wife, and was glad he had done so. The law could not touch that—nor his horses, nor carriage, nor piano. All were his wife’s and Louie’s, unless they gave them up, as perhaps they would. Well, it didn’t matter. Nothing would matter much if things went wrong. It was Sunday, and in a few hours he would know what that day would bring him. He should go to church, of course, he said, and sit once more in his pew, for which he paid nearly as much as Judge White paid for his.

He went to church behind his handsome bays, and never stood straighter, or read louder, or seemed more devout, or paid stricter attention to the sermon, although during the last of it his ears were strained to catch the first rumble of the train which was to bring him heaven or hell.

He heard the scream of the engine as it stopped at the station, heard it as it went on, heard the ‘bus as it passed the church with the mail, which he saw in fancy opened in the office, and saw the letters put into his drawer—four of them—he could have sworn there were four, but only one had any interest for him, and that lay on the top. He did not know whether he were in a trance or not, with a gift for far-seeing. He only knew he was at the office and at the church, too. He was very conscious of that last fact, and conducted himself becomingly—stood when he ought to stand, bowed his head when he ought to bow it, and dropped his silver dollar on the plate with a thud, which made the judge, who was passing it, frown disapprovingly.

“Blowing his own trumpet—thinks, maybe, he is setting me an example,” he thought, as he placed his quarter more quietly upon the plate.

Church was out at last, and Mr. Grey was among the first to reach the door.

“Take us to the post-office,” he said to his coachman, who, with the smart carriage and prancing bays, was waiting for him.

Joe touched his hat and drove to the post-office where the mail was distributing. Mrs. Grey and Louie did not alight, but waited while Mr. Grey went in, unlocked his drawer, and found, as he had expected, four letters, the one on the top bearing the New York postmark and directed in the handwriting he knew so well.

He could not wait till he reached home before knowing the truth, and, tearing open the envelope, he read that his worst fears were fulfilled. There was no hope from any quarter. He was absolutely ruined, and for a moment everything turned black, and he felt blindly for something to lean upon. There was a deadly nausea at his stomach, and the people’s voices sounded like the hum of a swarm of bees which once settled on a tree over his head when he was a boy. Then he rallied, and wondered that he could be so calm—that he didn’t feel anything. Something had benumbed him completely, so that his head was just as erect and his smile as pleasant as of old, as he made his way through the crowd and out to the street, where his high-mettled horses were pawing the road, anxious to be off. Two or three times he stopped to speak to people—to Godfrey Sheldon, and Nancy Sharp. She went to the office for the excitement, rather than because she expected anything. The sight of Mr. Sheldon gave him a twinge, but Nancy’s money was safe and his “Hallo, Nancy!” was more hearty than usual.