Ah, dear Dairy, that I might then and there have passed away. But I did not. I stood there, with my heart crushed, until I felt strong enough to escape. Then I fled, like a Gilty Soul. It was gastly.
On the doorstep I met Jane. She gazed at me strangely when she saw my face, and then cluched me by the arm.
“Bab!” she cried. “What on the earth is the matter with your complexion?”
But I was desparate.
“Let me go!” I said. “Only lend me two dollars for a taxi and let me go. Somthing horible has happened.”
She gave me ninety cents, which was all she had, and I rushed down the street, followed by her peircing gaze.
Although realizing that my Life, at least the part of it pertaining to sentament, was over, I knew that, single or married, I must find him. I could not bare to think that I, in my desire to help, had ruined Miss Everett’s couzin’s play. Luckaly I got a taxi at the corner, and I ordered it to drive to the mill. I sank back, bathed in hot persparation, and on consulting my bracelet watch found I had but twenty five minutes until the curtain went up.
I must find him, but where and how! I confess for a moment that I doubted my own father, who can be very feirce on ocasion. What if, madened by his mistake about Beresford, he had, on being aproached by Adrian, been driven to violance? What if, in my endeaver to help one who was unworthy, I had led my poor paternal parent into crime?
Hell is paved with good intentions.
Samuel Johnston.
On driving madly into the mill yard, I sudenly remembered that it was Saturday and a half holaday. The mill was going, but the offices were closed. Father, then, was imured in the safety of his Club, and could not be reached except by pay telephone. And the taxi was now ninty cents.